


Hallucination

by Eien_Ni



Series: The Poison Inside My Veins [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon up to season 2, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eien_Ni/pseuds/Eien_Ni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Derek is struck with hallucinogenic wolfsbane following an encounter with hunters, he realizes that it just might be the answer to his fading memories of his family. But every action has consequences, and Derek's choice may lead to the most dire one he has ever faced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hallucination

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give a big thank you to linksofmemories for beta-ing this story.
> 
> And this is my [tumblr](http://drowning-inthe-feels.tumblr.com/) for those of you who are interested in checking it out.

Derek dashed through the thick fog and up the front steps of the old Hale house; the rain poured down around him, before he quickly slipped inside. He was already drenched, some rain still managing to leak inside the dilapidated building, but at least now he had a chance to dry off.

Leaning heavily against the door, he closed his eyes and shook his head. Water droplets flew everywhere, then Derek moved further into the house. He surveyed the living room, taking in the damp spots. There was a leak over the couch, so Derek dragged it a few feet backwards. Running his hand over the material, he found it to be slightly wet, but he could live with that.

The werewolf sat down, elbows on his knees, and buried his face into his hands. He was tired, and he could feel a headache beginning to blossom. He allowed his body to relax against the soft cushions, his head lolling on the back. Sleep tugged at him, and though he fought against it, he found himself succumbing to it.

Maybe he would sleep, just for a few minutes...

-+-+-

When he woke, he instantly knew that something was wrong. He was on alert, having sensed another presence in the house with him. A familiar presence, he realized, but he quickly shook that away. It couldn’t be. But that feeling persisted, and he quietly rose from the couch, his eyes carefully scanning his surroundings.

“You’re awake.”

The voice washed over him like a bucket of cold water, and he froze. It was so seductive, its tone soft and lilting, as if trying to lull him into a false sense of security. He should know. He’d fallen for it once before.

But this was entirely impossible. There was no way he could be hearing that voice, because the person it belonged to had died, had her throat ripped open.

His fists clenched, and he forced himself to remain calm as he slowly turned around. But no matter how much he had braced himself for this, all the air left his lungs, like he’d been kicked in the stomach.

“Kate.” Her name, spoken barely above a whisper, echoed loudly in the still room, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat once, twice, then spoke again. “You’re dead.” This time, his voice was stronger, he noted with satisfaction.

She laughed. “If I’m dead, then how am I standing here in front of you?” She crossed her arms and jutted her hip out, all with this smug look on her face.

He didn’t have an answer, because honestly? He had no idea how she was here, right there, when she was supposed to be buried under six feet of dirt in the Beacon Hills Cemetery. He wondered if this was some kind of nightmare within a nightmare, and he pressed his nails into his leg, but there was pain. You weren’t supposed to feel pain in a dream, and he realized with a sinking heart that this was reality.

Kate stepped forward, and he instinctively shuffled backward. But he was watching her, the confident and arrogant way that she moved, so sure of herself. He’d loved that years ago, back when they were dating. He’d loved everything about her back then. Her laugh. Her body. Her personality.

Too bad he hadn’t realized that she’d only been putting on an act in order to get close to him and kill his family.

“Why are you backing away, Derek?” she asked, feigning a hurt expression on her face. “I don’t have any weapons.” Spreading her arms wide and tilting her head, she smirked, and when she spoke again, her voice had gone down an octave, “Although you’re quite welcome to frisk me. Just to make sure.”

Derek swallowed hard and willed himself to remain calm. He couldn’t let her know how much she was affecting him. He wanted nothing to do with her, yet his traitorous body was remembering the many times they’d had sex years ago.

“What do you want?” And as hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep the trembling tone from his voice. It was just too much, too soon. He’d thought that he’d buried this when the Argents had buried Kate.

Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“What do I want?” Here she paused, tapping a finger to her lips before nodding. “How about a nice, long, welcome back kiss? Just like before, when we hadn’t seen each other for a few days. You remember those, right?” She advanced again, her lips curling into a smile as she noticed the almost desperate way he moved to keep space between them.

“I remember how you killed my family,” he replied flatly. Yes, that’s right. Focus on what she’d done to him. Let the anger consume him and fill his thoughts, his actions. It was the only way to protect himself from her words.

“Ouch,” Kate winced, although it was clear that she was not really hurt by what he’d said. “Why do you always bring that up? It completely ruins the mood. Haven’t you ever learned that it’s not good to hold onto grudges? That you should stop living in the past and start living in the present?”

Derek spoke through clenched teeth, breath hissing out, “I am not living in the past.”

“Oh, but you are, Derek.” Kate shook her head sadly. “You and I both know that. You’re only lying to yourself. But here’s the million dollar question. Why?”

“Why?” he echoed blankly. His back hit the wall, and he realized that he hadn’t been mindful of his surroundings. He’d been unconsciously retreating from Kate while she’d been moving towards him. And once again, he was caught in her trap.

“Why are you living in the past? You’re an Alpha now. You have a pack. You can’t afford to be thinking about something else.” She came to a halt before him, close enough to lean into his personal space yet far enough away to avoid his teeth. “Why do you constantly think about what happened to your family? It can’t be to remember them. You could think of the good old happy days before the fire, if you wanted that. But no, their deaths are what you focus on. Why?” He looked to the side, and a knowing expression crossed her face.

“Of course. You feel guilty, don’t you? And you’re right. You should!”

He flinched, and she reached out, grabbed his chin, and forced him to look at her. “You helped me kill them, Derek. Every. Last. One. It may as well have been you who poured the gasoline and lit the match.”

Derek couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t stand to see the look of triumph on her face as her words basically tore him to pieces in front of her. He closed his eyes, but he could still feel her gaze piercing him. And she was right.

He’d been a naive, stupid 16 year old boy who had been seduced by an older woman. He’d been flattered by her attention and had gone along with everything that she’d said. She’d strung him along, and he hadn’t pressed for answers when she avoided questions about her personal life. They loved each other, he’d reasoned, and when she was ready to talk about it, he would be sure to listen. And so he’d ignored the tight feeling in his gut that told him something was off, completely obsessed with thinking about Kate and how they would have their happily ever after.

He’d only been burned in the end.

His chest tightened, and he couldn’t breathe. He could only remember the sneer on her face all those years ago when he’d gone to see her after discovering that his family had died. He’d been crying and so sure that she would take him in her arms and hold him and whisper soothing words into his ear. He hadn’t expected her to laugh in his face instead.

“Are you kidding me?” she’d managed to gasp out between laughs. “You still think that I love you? Use your nose, kid. Take a good whiff. What do you smell?”

He’d smelled smoke and gasoline and fire, and the realization that she had used him had dawned on him. He’d fallen to his knees, feeling like he was suffocating. Guilt had weighed heavily on him, crushing him even more as he listened to Kate ramble on about how she’d managed to deceive a werewolf until finally he’d passed out from exhaustion.

“Oh, Derek, I love that expression. The one that says that you know I am absolutely right. It’s such a good look on you,” Kate said, her eyes gleaming wickedly. “Although I have to admit, I also love how you looked when we had sex. The way you were so eager to please. You did anything I asked, just like an eager little puppy.”

Derek stiffened and narrowed his eyes, jerking his chin free of her grasp. “Shut up.”

“‘Shut up’? Is that the best you’ve got, Derek? Are you all bark and no bite?” Sliding a finger up his arm, she taunted him. His jaw tightened, and he pulled himself rigid. But she knew how to get to him. She always had.

“Why don’t you lean a little closer and we’ll see about my bite,” he snarled, baring his teeth. He had to get out of here. Kate was tearing down his defenses, and soon she’d have him right where she wanted him - on his knees and begging for mercy.

Kate laughed again, and he found himself hating that sound even more. "Oh, Derek," she gave an exasperated sigh, as though she was explaining something to a three year old for the hundredth time, and patted his cheek. "You won't get anywhere with the local girls if you keep acting like that. You need to work on your charm."

She moved away from him, but he didn't have the strength to run. He just sank to the floor instead, his head resting against the wall. But he watched her as she tilted her head and pursed her lips. He braced himself for the next verbal attack.

"Tell me what it's like, Derek," she caught his gaze and held it there. "What it feels like to be so consumed with guilt for something you've done."

"Like I'm drowning," Derek replied automatically. He didn't have to think about this. He'd been living this way for over six years. "Whenever I think about them, I get this pain in my chest, and I feel this heavy weight crushing me. There's a bitter taste in my mouth, like soot and flames. I can smell death, burning flesh, and smoke. Then I wish that I could go back in time to fix my mistake, or even to just die with them."

"Wishing for your own death? How very dramatic. And tragic." Kate's eyes raked over his form, glinting with desire and lust. "Yes, it would be tragic for someone as well-built and handsome as you to just die."

Disgust curled around him, and he growled low in his throat. "I don't want you."

"Maybe now you don't, but that certainly wasn't the case before," her lips curved into a wicked smile, and he wished he could just stand up and claw her face off. "You couldn't get enough of me. When we were together, you always had to be touching me. Holding my hand. Playing with my hair. It was actually kind of cute. Pathetic, but cute."

And here Derek pressed his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to see Kate, hear Kate. He needed to get away, far away.

Then there were hands on his wrists, forcing them against the wall, and he could smell that she was right in front of him, leaning into his personal space. He could feel her breath hitting his face, and it smelled like that peppermint gum she loved. Her nails dug into his skin, leaving lines that would heal quickly. And he was so very aware of her presence, and he needed to escape.

"I have to admit, it was fun. Leading you on like that. I still can't believe that you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker." His eyes opened of their own accord, and he stared at her face, mere inches from his. "That you could honestly think that a 22 year old woman could actually fall in love with an awkward 16 year old boy."

Kate was tearing open old wounds and creating new ones until the pain was beginning to bleed together, and he couldn't tell what was up and what was down. All he knew was that he couldn't breathe, and it hurt. It hurt. He'd been so incredibly stupid to fall for her. He should have known. He should have listened to his instincts. But he hadn't, because he’d been a sixteen year old boy who had all the answers.

"I was your first for everything, wasn't I, Derek?" she whispered before licking the shell of his ear. He flinched. "Your first kiss, first love, first broken heart. I bet I even took your virginity."

"Stop," he rasped. Derek was tired, and his head hurt too much to deal with this anymore.

"But it's so much fun to torture you," Kate grinned widely, and there, Derek could see the Kate he had fallen for. She'd been so mysterious, an almost dangerous aura hanging around her, and he'd been attracted to that. He'd liked the thrill that a secret relationship brought, having to sneak around and carefully choose his words so that he wouldn't be caught in a lie.

His chest ached badly, and he wanted to rip out his heart so he couldn't feel this pain. "Please..." And he hated himself for how he sounded right now, basically pleading with her to go away. Derek Hale, Alpha, begging. It wasn’t like him. Not like him at all.

"You know," Kate plunged on regardless. She'd always been relentless in everything she did, "you never told your family about the two of us. They went to their fiery graves not knowing that it had been one of their own who'd betrayed them." She paused, and Derek nearly stopped breathing, tense as he waited for her to continue speaking.

"Or did they?"

That question made him stop. Kate was right. He hadn't told them. He'd been careful to hide it, to mask her scent on him. So how could they have...

His face paled, and Kate's laughter alerted him to the knowledge that she knew he'd figured it out. "See? I always knew that, deep down, you really were a genius." She pressed closer, straddling his lap until they were nose to nose.

"You told them." The words tumbled out in a strangled whisper, and he searched her eyes desperately.

She shrugged, seemingly indifferent, but her eyes sparkled. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. But wouldn't that have been something? Your family is trapped, with no escape, and as they're burning alive, they're thinking, 'I'm so glad that Derek's not here. At least he can live.' And then I tell them that he's the reason why they're burning, and all of a sudden, their cries of pain turn into those of outrage and anger. And they burn to death, hating you for what you did. For how you betrayed them."

A choked moan filled the air, and he almost didn't recognize it as himself. His breaths were coming in short gasps, and his chest was heaving. He felt sick as the room spun, and he couldn't sit upright any longer. He fell over but didn't feel the impact of his head hitting the wood floor with a thunk.

"You didn't," he choked out. His voice trembled, and there was wetness on his cheeks. Tears? He hadn't cried in years, but he couldn’t fight them back. Not with the mental image of his family, surrounded by flames and knowing that Derek was at fault.

“Oh, Honey, I’m sorry,” Kate said in a patronizing tone. But she wasn’t sorry. He could tell she was lying. “It just kind of slipped out of my mouth,” she shrugged again, helplessly, now crouching in front of him.

Derek clenched his jaw, struggling to regain control. His vision was blurry from tears, and he was on the verge of a panic attack. If Kate had really told his family... If she had revealed everything to them...

The crushing weight returned with a vengeance, and his fingernails scraped at the floor as if that would give him the strength he needed to push past this. He vaguely saw Kate stand and walk towards the door. She halted, hand on the doorknob, before looking back at him.

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts now,” she said and wiggled her fingers. “It was nice talking to you again. We should do it more often.” And with a wink, she was gone, firmly shutting the door behind her.

And Derek was finally left alone, and he stared blankly ahead, now too numb to feel anything. The sharp pain had receded into a dull, hollow ache. It was cold, raindrops dripping through the cracks in the ceiling, but he was too physically and mentally drained to move. He felt like he was in a tunnel. He could hear the rain and see the lightning, but it didn't register in his mind.

He had no idea how long he laid there, oblivious to the world, until there was warmth on his hand. He blinked, tried to focus his gaze on the person kneeling before him. His breath hitched when he finally did.

It was his mother. She was there, staring at him, and he realized with a jolt that it was the first time he'd seen her in six years. It was a painful eye-opener to him, as he drank in her appearance like a man lost in the desert who had found water.

"Mom?" he croaked out.

She didn't answer, just shifted backwards out of his reach, and gracefully stood. Derek stretched out his hand, trying to grasp hers, but she was too far away and all his strength had been sapped away. He couldn't move, even as she began to fade.

He called out to her, long after she disappeared, until his voice was hoarse and he was exhausted further. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to betray her.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the exhaustion to overtake him, and he drifted into oblivion.

-+-+-

Derek woke with a start, his heart pounding as he realized that he was on the floor, not the couch. His head was pounding, and he was hot. He recognized how he was feeling as the effects of wolfsbane, and he knew he had to get help. Struggling to his feet, he swayed for a moment before regaining his balance. With determined steps, he edged his way out the door. Only one person came to his mind who would be able to help him. He just hoped that he could get there in time.


	2. The Remedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would again like to thank[linksofmemories](http://archiveofourown.org/users/linksofmemories) for reading this through! Her help was much appreciated.

It was very rare for Stiles to have a free night. At least, A.W., which stands for After Werewolves. Yeah, Stiles might have divided his life into sections. When he was ten, he’d begun to refer to the time before his mom died as B.D., or Before Death, and after as A.D., or After Death. Then after Scott had become a werewolf, it was B.W., Before Werewolves, and of course A.W., After Werewolves.

Now B.W. he’d had free time, time that he wisely spent listening to his dad’s phone calls and subsequently getting into trouble by doing illegal things. But hey, that was fun, and he and Scott were pros at it. A.W. was a little different. He spent most of his time chasing after Scott trying to keep his secret, well, a secret by doing illegal things, and listening to Scott either complain about his Allison woes or babble about his Allison highs.

Tonight, however, tonight was a free night. Scott and his mom were away on a long weekend trip, allowing Stiles to be able to relax. He didn’t have to worry about Scott getting himself into dangerous situations that Stiles needed to bail him out of.

Or that’s what he was hoping, at least. He’d better not get a phone call from Scott at two in the morning begging for help because Stiles was at least two hundred miles away from them, and as good as Stiles was about sneaking out of the house, he was pretty sure that his dad would notice if he was gone for a long time. So yeah, if Scott got into trouble, he was on his own.

Stiles had a feeling that his best friend was going to die this weekend.

With a groan, he rubbed his face, mind swirling with different possible answers he could supply his dad with after returning from saving Scott’s life. Stiles didn’t think that ‘Hey, Dad, I’m actually a superhero with super powers and I had to go save someone’s life’ or ‘Sorry, we were out of eggs, and all of the grocery stores here were out of them, too, so I had to drive two hundred miles just to get them’ would suffice.

With that thought firmly in mind, Stiles reluctantly turned his phone back on. As much as he would like to have a quiet, peaceful night, he’d much rather have his best friend. But so help him, if he did end up dragging Scott out of harm’s way on his weekend off, Stiles was so going to collar and chain him out in the backyard where he would have to eat and drink out of those plastic dog dishes and sleep in a doghouse even when it rained, and if he was bad, Stiles reserved the right to hit him with a rolled up newspaper.

But for now, Stiles was going to take advantage of the silence and solitude, because in Beacon Hills, how long did that last? Stiles figured he’d be lucky if he got an hour, which seriously wasn’t fair. With all the werewolf crap that he had to deal with on a daily basis, shouldn’t he get like a vacation? He deserved one, that was for sure. A nice week-long vacation where he didn’t have to worry about werewolves or full moons or hunters. That was one hundred sixty-eight stress free hours, and if that didn’t sound wonderful, then Stiles had no idea what did.

But he would take whatever peace and quiet he could get for the moment, and he turned on his laptop to play WoW. He was in the process of completing a quest when he heard the unmistakable scrape of his window opening.

Stiles groaned. He should have locked the window. Sighing, he turned around to see Derek climbing into his room.

“No. Absolutely not. My weekend is werewolf free,” Stiles announced loudly. “So just go on back where you came from.” He made a shooing motion with his hand, bracing himself for the infamous Derek Hale Alpha glare.

It didn’t come.

It was then that Stiles realized that Derek was leaning heavily against the wall by the window, his face pale and sweaty. His eyes flashed red, just for a second, but Stiles recognized those symptoms immediately.

“Holy crap!” he exclaimed, launching himself out of his chair and towards the werewolf. “Dude, what happened? Where did you get shot?” His hands hovered above Derek, but didn’t touch.

“Not...shot,” Derek managed to say.

“Then what’s wrong?” Stiles questioned. “Are you sick? Is it like the werewolf flu? Oh, is that even a real thing? Can werewolves even get sick? I mean, I know that you guys all heal from your injuries quicker than a normal human, so wouldn’t being sick be like an injury, too?”

Stiles’ verbal landslide was halted when Derek slid to the floor, his legs unable to hold him upright any longer. “Whoa, dude.” He flailed for a few seconds before reaching out and hauling Derek to his feet. A miraculous feat, considering Derek was quite a bit heavier than Stiles, although that was more likely due to his impossibly muscled body. He managed to half-drag Derek over to the bed and wrestled him into a lying position.

The werewolf’s breathing was erratic, and there was a wild look in his eyes that Stiles didn’t like. He shifted back a few steps, just in case Derek decided to lash out at him with either his claws or fangs.

“So, um, what happened?” he asked again. “Because until you tell me what happened, I can’t help you. And I’m assuming that that’s why you came here. To my room. Through my window. Because you need help.”

“Wolfsbane,” Derek ground out. “Hallucinogen. Ran into some hunters.”

“Crap,” Stiles muttered. “We need to get you to Deaton. C’mon, let’s get you into my jeep.” He helped Derek to his feet, winding an arm around Derek’s waist, and together they slowly made their way downstairs. When Derek stumbled on the steps, his weight crashed into Stiles, sending them tumbling down the stairs in a tangled mess of limbs. Luckily, they were only three steps away from the landing, but it still hurt. Stiles ended up hitting his ass and lower back, with his right arm pinned beneath Derek.

“Ow, dammit,” Stiles yelped. He pushed Derek forward just enough so he could slip his arm free, but Derek’s equilibrium was apparently still off, ending with him toppling over. “Crap. You okay, Derek?” Stiles bent over, choosing to ignore the pain.

“I think,” he mumbled. He looked disoriented, and Stiles guided him to his feet. Derek leaned heavily on him.

“Ugh, is this all muscle?” Stiles asked, his nose scrunched up. There was no reply, not that he was expecting one. “Okay, let’s try this again.”

After a few more close calls, Stiles finally got Derek into the jeep and buckled in, then raced towards the vet’s office. He kept shooting quick glances at the Alpha, who had his head resting against the window and was staring into space. Needless to say, Derek’s behavior was worrying Stiles. The other time that Derek had been poisoned by wolfsbane, he hadn’t acted like this. He wondered if it was because it was a hallucinogenic type this time, rather than a wolfsbane bullet. He figured Deaton would have the answer.

-+-+-

Stiles sat on his desk chair, twirling slightly as he stared at Derek, who was lying on his bed. Deaton had stated that there was nothing he could do for Derek. The hallucinogen had to work its way out of his system by itself. All Stiles could do was watch Derek carefully to make sure that he didn’t hurt himself, or anyone else. Deaton had warned him that this specific kind of wolfsbane was dangerous. It messed with the victim’s head, and if they became hurt or angry, it could cause trouble for whoever happened to be around.

With a sigh, Stiles rubbed a hand down his face. What a way to spend his Friday night.

“Stiles? What the hell is going on?”

Stiles jerked, nearly falling off the chair. His gaze flew to where his dad stood framed in the doorway. “Hey, Dad. You’re home early,” he said, trying for nonchalance, like there wasn’t a former murder suspect lying on his bed at - he shot a quick glance at the clock - 12:32 AM.

“Stiles,” John said calmly, “this is the time I usually get home on Fridays.”

“You mean Saturday morning. Because it’s after midnight, so it’s technically Saturday morning. Early, really early Saturday morning.” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck when his dad just shifted his weight, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, then.”

“Stiles, what the hell is Derek Hale doing in your bedroom, on your bed, no less?”

“Oh, that. Well, you see,” Stiles chanced a quick look at Derek and saw his entire body twitch. He winced, knowing that Derek was most likely in intense pain.

“I’m waiting.”

Stiles knew that telling his dad that Derek was actually a werewolf who had been poisoned by aconite and experienced hallucinations and needed Stiles’ help to detox would not go over so well. But maybe he could fudge the details a little and come up with a plausible story. So he took a breath and plunged in.

“I was outside getting the mail, and I saw Derek walking down the sidewalk. Well, he wasn’t really walking. It was more like staggering. At first, I thought he was drunk or something, but as he got closer, I couldn’t smell any alcohol on him. He just looked sick, like really sick, and he was about to collapse and I didn’t want to leave him outside so I brought him in here,” Stiles explained, hands waving in the air to demonstrate. “And he said that he was going to throw up, so I took him to the bathroom because I didn’t want to clean up puke off the floor, and then he couldn’t walk very well after that so I just brought him in here and he fell asleep on my bed.”

The Sheriff held up a hand. “So let me get this straight. You allowed Derek Hale into the house when you were home alone.”

“Yeah, but I mean, what was I supposed to do, Dad? Just leave him lying there on the sidewalk to get run over by those kids who like to skateboard down the road? I don’t know where he lives.” Now that was a blatant lie, but Stiles figured that his dad wouldn’t suspect otherwise. “Besides, he doesn’t have anyone else to help him. He’s all alone in his house or apartment or wherever the hell he lives, and -”

“Okay, Stiles, I get it,” John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “But don’t you think you should have taken him to a hospital, at least? What if he’s got something contagious?” He stepped closer, intent on checking on Derek. He frowned as he noticed the dark circles under the younger man’s eyes and the heavy breathing.

“Don’t wake him up,” Stiles hissed. He wasn’t certain about what Derek would do if he woke to find someone leaning over him, and the last thing Stiles wanted was Derek wolfing out in front of his dad.

“Is he on drugs?”

The question was unexpected, and Stiles’ mouth opened and closed like a fish before he finally managed to stammer, “N-no.”

“Stiles, I’ve seen druggies before, and he looks like one. You said he was staggering earlier, but he wasn’t drunk. What else did you notice?”

Stiles blew out a breath. His dad was in cop mode, and he wanted answers. He wouldn’t give up until he was satisfied. He’ll just have to let his dad think what he wanted. “Okay, so maybe he was a little high,” Stiles admitted. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Wolfsbane was, for werewolves, a drug that was harmful to them.

“And you decided that you would just let him into the house, knowing that he would be dangerous and unpredictable?” John rubbed his forehead. Honestly, he wondered if his son had any self-preservation instincts at all.

“Well, yeah. I mean, what should I have done? Let him wander the streets so he could get hit by a car or something?”

“You should have called me,” John answered, his tone exasperated. “And I would have come here myself or sent one of my officers.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. There was a moment of silence as father and son stared at the other, before a barely audible moan of pain filtered through the air, and both turned to stare at Derek’s prone body.

“So,” Stiles drew out the word slowly, “can we keep him?”

“Oh, for the love of... Stiles, he is high. I don’t know if this is a regular thing for him or not, but he should really -”

“Dad, listen. He has no one. His family is all dead.” Except for crazy Uncle Peter, but Stiles didn’t say that. As far as the police knew, Peter Hale’s nurse had been found dead in the trunk of her car, and he himself was missing. “Besides, you’re the sheriff. You’re supposed to help people, right? And also, you’re here with me now, just in case he goes all violent and stuff.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John sighed. “Stiles, you are the only teenager I know who has this dumb luck that prevents himself from getting killed due to reckless decisions.”

Stiles knew that that was as much of a ringing endorsement as he was going to get. “Thanks, Dad,” he grinned, and he thought maybe his relief was showing too much on his face because his dad gave him this weird look, and he managed to carefully school his features into something more laid back. “I’ll just, uh, get some blankets for me to sleep on.”

“Downstairs.”

The teen blinked, narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “Huh?”

“You’re sleeping downstairs on the couch, since Hale is in your room on your bed,” John clarified. He made sure to enunciate his words so Stiles would catch his meaning.

As expected, Stiles huffed and waved his arms around wildly. “But he needs someone to keep an eye on him. I can just sleep on the floor. That’s fine. I’ve done that plenty of times before. With Scott. When Scott has spent the night, because he’s a bed hog. And likes to kick me off the bed,” he hastily added. “Not that I’ve had Derek in my room before. Because I haven’t.”

John held up a hand, effectively halting Stiles’ rant. “Stiles. It’s late, and I’m tired. Just...” he sighed, rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “Just get me if anything happens, okay?” An over-enthusiastic nod was his reply, and the Sheriff gave his son and Derek one last look before retreating from the bedroom. “The door stays open!” he called out over his shoulder.

Stiles held his breath until he heard his dad’s bedroom door click shut. “Oh, boy,” he scrubbed his hands over his hair and realized that he needed to buzz it again soon. He stepped closer to the bed, just to make sure that Derek was still alive.

He was. His breaths were light and shallow, but he was still breathing. Which was a good thing, because Stiles really didn’t want to give him CPR, because he could just imagine the awkwardness that would ensue after that, especially if Derek were to find out that it had been Stiles who had had his mouth all over his. And Derek would most likely slam him against a wall and threaten bodily harm if he were to tell anyone about that.

So yes, definitely a good thing that Derek was alive.

Stiles shuffled over to his closet and dragged two extra blankets out, setting them up on the floor. He grabbed a pillow from his bed and curled up on the floor. It was hard, and not very comfortable, but he’d live. He set the alarm on his cell to go off in an hour, just so he could check on Derek again and make sure he wasn’t having any side effects to the wolfsbane.

He managed to fall asleep rather easily, Derek’s rhythmic breathing his lullaby.

-+-+-

Stiles woke up to the sound of his floor creaking. He cracked open an eye to see his dad standing over the bed. His heartbeat stuttered, and he swallowed hard, expecting Derek to suddenly wake up and snarl and claw the Sheriff to death. That didn’t happen.

“Dad?” Stiles whispered. “What time is it?”

“It’s 8:30. Go back to sleep,” John replied.

But Stiles shook his head and said around a yawn, “He still asleep?”

“Yeah. Did he wake up at all during the night?”

“Yeah. He just asked where he was.” Which wasn’t entirely the truth. Derek had mumbled a few things, mostly ‘Laura,’ ‘Mom,’ and several other names that he didn’t recognize. Probably his other family members.

His dad frowned. “He should go to the hospital,” he said finally.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Stiles stood beside his dad and gave him a reassuring smile, who merely grunted and turned to the door. Stiles thought he was going to leave, but then John was holding something out to him. “What’s this?”

“It’s for Derek. I want you to give them to him when he wakes up.”

They were pamphlets, all about drug abuse and the dangers of using drugs and how to get help. Stiles opened his mouth, about to protest that Derek didn’t need them when his dad gave him the Look. The look that said ‘you better do as I say because I will find out if you don’t and when I do find out there will be hell to pay.’

Stiles wisely snapped his mouth closed and nodded. He had no doubt that his dad would check to make sure that Derek had received the pamphlets, so he should at least tell Derek about them. Maybe try to convince him to inquire more about it. That way, Stiles’ dad would be satisfied. He hoped, anyways.


	3. The Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any Hale family feelings you might experience when reading this. And again, thanks to [linksofmemories](http://archiveofourown.org/users/linksofmemories) for the beta!

It didn’t smell like home. That was the first thing Derek thought as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on a soft bed, rather than the hard seats in the abandoned train station.

He opened his eyes, only to close them against the bright sunlight streaming through the window. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. Breathing in the familiar scent, he finally placed it as Stiles. But why was he at the Stilinski house?

He heard movement to his right, and Derek cautiously peeked an eye open. His head hurt, but he did his best to ignore it. “Stiles?” he rasped.

There was a muted thud as Stiles dropped the book he’d been holding onto the desk, then hastily made his way to Derek’s side. “Derek. You okay? How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts,” the Alpha replied. He took a glass that was offered to him and gulped it down in a matter of seconds.

“Wow, you must have been thirsty,” Stiles observed as he stood. “Are you hungry? I can grab some food real quick.”

Derek shook his head. “Not yet.” He carefully sat up, pausing to see if there was any dizziness or nausea. There was nothing aside from the slight pressure throbbing in his temple. “What happened?”

“You muttered something about hunters and hallucinogenic wolfsbane last night, so I took you to see Deaton. But he couldn’t do anything, and I brought you back here to keep an eye on you.” Stiles squinted. “Dude, you look awful.”

Derek grunted and slid his legs over the side of the bed. He must have stood up too fast because the room began to spin and he felt himself falling before a pair of hands gripped his arms tightly to steady him. The warm pressure triggered a memory, and Derek pushed Stiles away before he even registered doing it.

Stiles yelped, stumbling backwards, arms flailing as he struggled to regain his balance. “Dammit, Derek! What the hell was that for?”

He looked down at his trembling hands, something awful nagging at the back of his mind. Panic and apprehension began to flood his body. He breathed in shakily before looking at Stiles. “I should go.”

Stiles stared at him for a beat, then threw his hands into the air with an exasperated eyeroll. “Oh, okay. Yeah, sure. I saved your life and now you’re just going to waltz out of here without even a thank you.”

“Thank you,” Derek said stiffly.

A snort was his answer, followed by, “I don’t think you should be walking yet. I could drive you. I need to talk to you anyway.”

“About what?”

Stiles turned and rummaged through the stuff piled on his desk. “Here,” he replied as he held out a few booklets.

Derek raised an eyebrow at the titles. “What the hell is this?”

“Apparently my dad thinks that you’re a druggie,” Stiles sighed, “and he wants you to look at these and get help.”

“I don’t need help,” the werewolf stated flatly. He tossed the papers onto the bed, not caring when they fluttered to the floor instead.

“No, dude, you don’t get it,” Stiles interjected. “My dad, who is the sheriff, thinks that you’re a druggie. He will check to see if you’re going for treatments, and when he finds out that you’re not, he’ll get on your case until you do.”

“So what you’re saying,” Derek forced out through clenched teeth, “is that I have to go to drug rehab for a problem that I don’t have.”

Stiles winced. “Yeah, basically.”

“Terrific.” Derek rubbed his forehead, shoulders slumping. His headache was worsening, and all he wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner and go back to sleep. “Why did you let him think that?”

“I tried to tell him that you were fine, maybe just a little drunk, but he didn’t believe me. You did look drugged, though, and besides what was I supposed to tell him? That you’re actually a werewolf who got high on hallucinogenic wolfsbane? He’d think I was the one on drugs then,” Stiles said sharply. His posture was defensive, arms folded tightly against his chest and eyes guarded.

Derek’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Fine,” he spat out, bending over to grab the pamphlets. With a final glare at Stiles, he moved towards the window and began the descent.

“You’re welcome!” Stiles shouted after him.

Derek ignored him.

-+-+-

As soon as he could, he threw the pamphlets into a garbage can. He didn’t need them.

-+-+-

Derek collapsed onto the worn out sofa in the living room of his childhood home. It was quiet, almost too quiet, but he was used to that by now. He didn’t have three teenagers arguing and fighting. He only had himself.

Boyd and Erica were missing, most likely dead. He hadn’t heard from them since they left the night of the last lacrosse game of the season. Jackson had abruptly moved away, and Derek wasn’t even sure anyone knew where he was. He didn’t like the fact that Jackson was a new werewolf without an Alpha, or without an older werewolf there to guide him, at least, like Derek had done for Scott. Or when Scott had allowed him to help, was more like it. Speaking of Scott, Isaac was spending a lot of his time with him, only coming back to check in with Derek every once in awhile. Derek noticed that Isaac was different around Scott. Isaac was more open and relaxed than he was with his own Alpha, a fact that disturbed Derek greatly. But what could he do to change it?

Derek wasn’t cut out to be Alpha. He was fumbling through the motions, and he knew everyone could tell even though he tried desperately to hide it. It hurt, the feeling of failure and defeat. Erica and Boyd hadn’t trusted him to keep them alive. Isaac trusted Scott more than he trusted Derek. Jackson hadn’t wanted anything to do with Derek after being bitten.

Derek had thought that after adding to his pack, then he wouldn’t be so alone. He’d have his Betas to look after, and they would form some kind of pack bond. But instead, he was still alone. Unless you counted Peter, which Derek didn’t. Peter might be his uncle, but he had killed Laura, among other people. He was a threat to everyone, and Derek didn’t know what his motives were. Right now, Peter was laying low, but Derek knew that the older werewolf was only biding his time. Waiting for the opportune moment when everyone was relaxed around him to strike.

Truth be told, Derek was tired. He was tired of always being on guard. He was tired of failing. He was tired of being alone.

He couldn’t help but think about his family right before the fire, when Derek was sixteen. His father, mother, Laura, younger brother and sister. Peter and his wife and their two children.

His father, Keith, had been the Alpha, and he’d demanded perfection, especially from Laura since Alpha was passed from parent to oldest child. It was Laura who had received most of their father’s attention, and he would often run her ragged during trainings. He’d been tough on Derek, too, and would scold him for relying on other family members too much.

His mother, Shannon, had been so beautiful and smart. She’d been from the Mead pack, which had resided fifty miles north of Beacon Hills until hunters had annihilated them all five years after her marriage into the Hale pack. She’d been strong and unafraid to stand up to Derek’s father and let him know what she really thought about something, while still managing to be respectful since he was her Alpha.

Derek and Laura, who was only two years older, had been very close. But like all other siblings, they still had their arguments and fights. He could remember one time he and Laura had actually drawn blood on each other over some ridiculous thing. That had resulted in a rather harsh punishment. _“The members of a pack don’t turn on each other,”_ his father had snarled. _“They help each other, not tear them to shreds.”_

Derek’s younger brother Matthew had looked up to him. He was three years younger than Derek, and Derek had had to be careful with what he did, lest he be imitated. His younger sister Aubery had been a surprise baby, born when Derek was thirteen. As the baby of the family, she’d been spoiled.

Peter had been the fun uncle, helping Derek and Laura and their siblings get in and out of mischief before their parents even knew about it. But he still knew when rules had to be followed, and if any of them were out of line, he’d let them know with a growl or glare.

His aunt Sarah had been human, much to Derek’s father’s dislike, and she’d been sworn to secrecy under punishment of death. Derek could still recall his father and Peter arguing many times over this subject, even after Peter and his wife had gotten married. Derek hadn’t been very close to his cousins. Ashlynn was eight years younger than Derek, and Channing was ten years younger.

Derek closed his eyes, calling up old memories. Peter laughing at six year old Derek’s horror upon accidentally killing a rabbit during a full moon. _“At least it wasn’t a human. We can eat a rabbit,”_ he’d said in an attempt to make Derek feel better. Sarah helping Derek bake cookies for Laura’s birthday. _“Don’t eat too many chocolate chips or there won’t be enough for the cookies,”_ she’d laughed as she shook her head. Keith praising Derek’s self-restraint when a boy from his class pissed him off. _“We have a responsibility to protect our pack’s secret. We must always be in control of our wolf,”_ he’d explained, affectionately ruffling Derek’s hair. Shannon allowing Derek to braid her long black hair. No, brown hair. His mother had brown hair. Or was it black? Dark brown?

Panic and dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t remember. It had been seven years since he’d last seen his family, and he couldn’t remember what color his mother’s hair was. He desperately tried to dredge up a picture of his family, but he couldn’t. Their figures were black and white and blurry, and even their voices didn’t sound right in his head.

Derek tasted bile in the back of his throat, and he swallowed hard. If he just concentrated enough, then surely he’d remember what his family looked like. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and focused, but it didn’t work. His memory of his family was still a big blank.

Tipping his head back, he stared at the charred ceiling, suddenly feeling worse than he had before. All these years he’d been holding onto his anger tightly, intent on revenge for his family, and he hadn’t realized that he should have been clinging to the memories of his family instead.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. He missed them all so much, and he would give anything just to see them again. Then he paused as something flashed to the front of his mind from the events of the previous night. He’d been ‘high’ on hallucinogenic wolfsbane, causing him to hallucinate not only Kate but also his mother.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He hardly breathed. If he’d hallucinated seeing his mom once, was it possible it would happen again?

Derek took a slow, deep breath to calm his racing thoughts. He had to be rational about this. He couldn’t let emotions control his actions. A warning bell was already ringing in his head. He’d only hallucinated because of the wolfsbane that he’d inhaled, and while he had healed from it, it was still dangerous. If he’d breathed in just a little more, it could have killed him or caused him to lose control. He’d been lucky this time, but there was nothing saying that luck would be on his side if it happened again.

As much as he hated it, he knew that he couldn’t allow it to happen. There were too many risks involved. He bent over, burying his face in his hands. It was days like this when he just wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over his head, and wake up to days past, before his world had gone up in flames. But those were useless, childish thoughts. His family was dead because of him, and nothing could bring them back.

-+-+-

The chilly wind swirled around Derek as he crouched in the bushes, watching the hunters gathered around the campfire. He knew that he shouldn’t be there. The temptation to steal the wolfsbane was strong, but Derek had managed to convince himself that he wouldn’t take it. He was just coming to observe the hunters to figure out their next move. That was it.

But so far, they’d said nothing of importance. Derek sighed. It was getting late, and he should be heading back to the train station in case Isaac was there tonight. He snorted. Right. Isaac was most likely still at Scott’s house. In fact, Derek was certain that Melissa McCall had practically adopted Isaac as her son. In a way, Derek was grateful for that, since Isaac’s mother had died when he was younger. He now had another ‘mother,’ but Derek couldn’t help the jealousy from rising inside him. He was Isaac’s Alpha, so shouldn’t he be the one Isaac leaned on and trusted? But no, Isaac was more dependent on Scott and Melissa.

Derek’s vision was bleeding red, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the crisp air to calm himself down. He couldn’t wolf out right now. It wouldn’t turn out very good if he did.

“Hey, you got more of that wolfsbane?”

Derek’s head snapped up, and he began listening intently.

“Yeah, I have two more small bags here,” a hunter held up two plastic baggies. “We need to get some more.”

“I’ll call them and let them know,” a shorter man spoke. He brought out a cell phone and began speaking into it.

“You think that werewolf from last night will show up again?” a third hunter asked the first.

“He might. Hard to say. If he’s smart, he’ll stay away,” he zipped the baggies back into his bag. Derek’s gaze zeroed in on it, and he swallowed hard. He could get it. He could take it and use it and then see his family again. He ached to see them once more, even if just for a few minutes.

He growled. To hell with it.

Derek picked up a rock and threw it to his left. The hunters all jerked up, grabbing their guns and swinging them in the direction of the sound.

“You hear that? Guess he’s stupid after all,” the third hunter chuckled.

“You two go check it out,” the first one said, motioning with his head. The other two nodded and disappeared into the shadows.

Derek crept along the outskirts of the little clearing where they had made their camp until he was directly behind the hunter who had stayed behind. He crouched low, feeling his muscles tense and bunch as he prepared himself to leap. He sprang forward, knocking the guy facedown on the ground. He heard a muffled curse but didn’t pay attention as he snatched the guy’s backpack and melted back into the trees before he was seen.

The other hunters came crashing through the woods as they hurried back to their partner, but Derek didn’t stick around to see what they were going to do next. He had what he wanted.

-+-+-

It was with shaking fingers that Derek finally managed to rip the bag open. He hadn’t been able to keep a grip on the small zipper and so had resorted to the next best thing - his claws. The material shredded easily, and Derek dumped the contents on the floor, scattering them as he searched for that specific item.

When he found the bags, he carefully picked them up and stared at them. The truth as to what he was about to do hit him, and he dropped the bags, quickly backing away from them and flattening himself against the wall of his childhood home. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, and his fingers curled into fists.

What the hell was he thinking? How could he honestly go along with this foolish idea? Wolfsbane was not something to mess around with. He could die from it. That was one of the cons he’d listed in an attempt to dissuade himself from doing exactly this. But part of Derek knew that he didn’t care. So what if he died? It wasn’t like he had anyone wanting him alive. Boyd, Erica, and Jackson had left. Scott refused to join the pack. Isaac had joined Scott. Peter was up to who knew what.

The longer Derek stared at the bag, the more he found himself wanting it. He wanted the chance to see his family again, no matter the cost. He was kneeling beside the bag before he even registered moving across the room. His skin prickled as he opened it and poured out a tiny amount of the powder into his palm.

Slowly, Derek brought his hand to his nose and breathed deeply. He could feel the wolf reacting to the wolfsbane as he closed his eyes and waited for it to take full effect. It took only a few minutes before it did, and he smiled. He remained on the floor for another five minutes, then peeked an eye open to glance around. Disappointment welled inside of him when he didn’t see anyone, and he shook his head. Maybe it had just been a one time thing, and he’d dosed himself up on hallucinogenic wolfsbane for nothing.

Irritation flooded through his body, and he growled. He was just about to throw the bags away when a light pressure settled on his shoulder. Turning his head, he caught sight of his mom standing behind him. His gaze fixed onto the color of her hair. It was black.

Derek smiled.


	4. The Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [linksofmemories](http://archiveofourown.org/users/linksofmemories) for beta-ing! And thanks to everyone who has left kudos/comments so far! But now I am going to hide because I fear for my life...

Stiles stared at his phone for a minute before tossing it onto his bed in frustration. He’d been texting Derek over the past few days but either got short, one word replies or no response at all. Although it certainly wasn’t anything new, it was highly irritating, especially since Stiles wanted to know what Derek was planning to do about the new hunters that had slipped into town now that the Argents were no longer in the werewolf hunting business.

So far, they hadn’t done much, but Isaac had told Scott that he’d seen several traps lying hidden around the woods. Since Derek was the Alpha, Stiles had assumed that he’d have a plan to deal with the hunters. But apparently, Derek had adopted Stiles’ view of ignoring the problem until it eventually goes away. Not a smart thing for an Alpha to do, but Stiles was trying not to judge him. Derek was still learning the ropes of being an Alpha, a role that Stiles guessed he never expected to have.

All things considered, Derek was doing a bang-up job as Alpha. If you didn’t count the fact that he turned three teenagers lacking in self-esteem, tried to kill Lydia for being the kanima when she was in fact innocent, and then proceeded to kill Jackson right in front of Lydia. Although that last point was kind of negated since Jackson had then revived somehow, ruining Stiles’ ‘get-Lydia-to-love-me’ plan. But there were several other bad decisions that Stiles had not mentioned, so yeah. Derek still had a lot to learn about being the leader of a pack.

The only person who probably knew more about being an Alpha was Peter, and Stiles sincerely hoped that Derek would never take advice from Peter, even if some of Peter’s advice had been good. Peter had ulterior motives that no one knew, and Stiles knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Peter’s endgame wouldn’t turn out very well for the rest of them. It would most likely result in their deaths, and Stiles very much preferred to be alive.

However, they might all end up dead if Derek didn’t get a plan of action in place for the hunters. Scott was trying to keep a low profile, and Stiles figured that was all he could do. It wasn’t like Scott could kill the hunters. For one, Scott wasn’t a murderer. For another, they were trying to avoid trouble. Killing someone was definitely not the best way to go about doing that.

This would be a hell of a lot easier if Derek would just answer his damn phone. Stiles didn’t want to go traipsing out to the old Hale house or the abandoned train station to talk to him. For all he knew, there were hunters hiding anywhere in town and the surrounding woods. He didn’t want to inadvertently lead them to where the werewolves were staying. Stiles paused. Technically, Derek would be the only one to be found there, since Isaac was living with Scott now, and Stiles had no idea where Peter was staying. He doubted that Derek would be comfortable with Peter under the same roof, even if he had helped them with the whole Gerard controlling the kanima problem.

Stiles sighed. If Derek didn’t reply with a good answer soon, Stiles was going to have to hunt him down and demand an answer. Beacon Hills was Hale territory, after all, so this was Derek’s problem.

Grabbing his phone, he dialed Scott’s number and flopped onto his chair while waiting for him to answer.

“Hey,” Scott said. “What's up?”

“Have you heard from Derek at all?” Stiles asked.

“No, not since last week. Hold on. Let me ask Isaac.” There was the sound of movement, and then Stiles could hear Scott's muffled voice talking. “Isaac said that Derek wasn't feeling well when he last saw him four days ago. Why?”

“He hasn't been answering my texts.”

“Stiles, he's probably trying to rest so he can get better. He can't do that if you keep texting him and bothering him,” Scott protested.

Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, as if by doing that Scott could see his look. “Dude, we have a problem here, in case you've forgotten. You know, big, bad hunters roaming around town and the woods on the lookout for werewolves?”

“I told you. I’m just laying low. If I don’t do anything, then they won’t know I’m a werewolf.”

“But what if they do find out?” Stiles asked. “That will be trouble for everyone surrounding you. Including your mom.”

“Yeah, I know, Stiles. Trust me,” Scott’s voice sounded strangled and tense. “I’ve already thought about all of this.”

Stiles knew it was difficult for Scott. He hadn't wanted to become a werewolf, and his mom had freaked when she'd found out, avoiding Scott like the plague for a good week. Add to that the fact that his girlfriend came from a family of hunters, and Scott's life sucked. Stiles felt bad for his best friend and often wished he could fix his problems.

“Seriously, Stiles, just leave him alone for a while.”

Stiles grumbled under his breath. He wasn't very happy about the turn of events, and he really did think that Derek needed to get his Alpha werewolf ass in gear and figure out a strategy to deal with this situation. He would give Derek his space, but if Stiles hadn't received a reply by next week, he was driving out to the Hale house and giving Derek a piece of his mind.

-+-+-

Of course, after Stiles decided to leave Derek alone, he saw him all over the place. The grocery store. The gas station. Driving down the road. Stiles had to admit that Derek did indeed look sick. He was pale, and he had bags under his eyes. He also didn't seem to be as alert as he usually was, which was rather worrisome. Stiles called out to him a few times, but either Derek hadn't heard him or was ignoring him. If Stiles had to guess, he'd say it was the latter option.

Needless to say, Stiles was getting pissed. He hated being ignored, especially if there was something important that needed to be discussed. Which was why he was currently driving to the Hale house to corner Derek. Not that cornering an Alpha werewolf was a smart thing to do, but it needed to be done.

The Camaro was parked in front of the house when Stiles pulled up, and he breathed a sigh of relief. If it hadn’t been there, then he would have either had to just sit and wait for Derek to return - if he did - or go out and look for him. Luckily, this was turning out to be a rather easy task, although the difficult part was sure to come when he was face to face with Derek.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles got out of his jeep and headed towards the house. He knocked once on the door as a courtesy before going inside, even though he figured Derek already knew he was there.

“Derek?” he called, glancing around. The house seemed empty. Maybe Derek was out on a run? He cautiously stepped further into the dilapidated building. He didn’t trust this house, or what remained of it, to be very steady.

“Hey, Derek. It’s me, Stiles,” he wandered into what used to be the living room. A bag lying on the floor caught his attention, and he knelt beside it. There was some food in there, and also a few guns and cases of ammunition.

Stiles’ heart slammed in his chest, and he whipped his head around. There was no one else in sight, but he saw two plastic baggies next to the couch. He crawled towards them and picked them up. One of them was empty, and the other held a powder of some kind. Stiles would be willing to bet any money that the powder was a variation of wolfsbane. He frowned. Could it be the hallucinogenic wolfsbane that Derek had talked about a few weeks ago? If so, then Derek could be in big trouble. Where was Derek? And were the hunters still there?

Scrambling to his feet, Stiles forced himself to calm down. He felt in his pocket for his phone before slowly pulling his hand away. He couldn’t call anyone here. He’d just be leading them into a trap. It was up to him to find Derek and help him if he could.

It didn’t help that Stiles had announced his arrival, so any chance of a surprise attack was out of the question, at least on his part. The hunters could be well hidden and waiting for their chance to strike. Stiles had to find them first.

He crept towards the stairs and eyed them. They looked dangerous and unstable, and Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to try to climb them. But there was no other way to the top story of the house. He let out a small groan before carefully ascending the stairs. They creaked under his weight, and Stiles breathed a huge sigh of relief when he reached the top.

A noise came from his right, and he turned. Derek was crouched in the corner, his eyes glowing a blood red. Stiles froze.

“Derek?” he spoke slowly and quietly. “Are you okay? Are the hunters gone?”

The Alpha growled and bared his teeth menacingly, and Stiles gulped. “Did they get you with the wolfsbane again? It’s okay. I think they’re gone. I didn’t see anyone here,” he sat down, noting the way Derek’s gaze fixed on him and refused to look anywhere else. “So what happened? How did they sneak up on you? Was it because you're not feeling well?” Stiles studied Derek in the dim light and winced. He looked even worse than he did a few days ago, and now Stiles was really worried. What if the wolfsbane had a residual effect that didn’t show up until weeks later? Derek could be dying by now, perhaps even past the point of being saved. He had to get Derek to Deaton now.

“Hey, Derek, how about we get in my jeep and go to see Deaton?” Stiles suggested. “He’ll help you, and then we can figure out what to do about the hunters.” A snarl was Derek’s reply, and Stiles tried to keep his heart from racing. The look in Derek’s eye was feral, a dangerous glint. Stiles could tell that his muscles were tense and ready to lunge at any second. He remembered what Deaton had said about the wolfsbane messing with Derek’s head which could cause him to become vicious.

“Crap,” Stiles muttered. The last thing he needed was an angry Alpha werewolf breathing down his neck, but he couldn’t leave. What if Derek decided to go on a rampage, or the hunters came back for their forgotten bag?

Stiles paused. Why had the hunters left their bag here? There were guns and bullets in there, not to mention the wolfsbane powder. It would have been easy for Derek to just destroy the items. The hunters wouldn’t have risked losing their belongings. Besides, how the hell had they gotten the jump on Derek? Stiles refused to believe that Derek had been caught off guard, and there was no evidence of a struggle.

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. It all made sense now. Derek looking and acting sick and tired. The abandoned hunter’s bag. The wolfsbane powder that was settled right next to the couch. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, horrified. “You did this to yourself. Why?”

Derek growled fiercely, and fear coursed through Stiles’ body. Something was definitely wrong. Derek wasn’t reacting like the other time, where he’d been responsive to a degree. This time, he was more...animalistic. Stiles couldn’t help but feel that he was about to become the hunted prey. His rapid heartbeat and erratic breathing probably didn’t help. He had to get out of there.

Stiles shifted his weight and paused. Derek had leaned forward, almost as if he were anticipating to lunge. Stiles looked at the older male, catching his eye, and Derek roared. Stiles flinched and quickly looked away. Right. Probably not a good idea to make eye contact.

Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’m just going to make a call,” he explained, hoping that he wouldn’t get his arms bitten off. He wasn’t too optimistic with the sounds Derek was making. His hands were shaking so badly, he dropped his phone onto the first step. The _thud_ it made on the wooden floor was loud to Stiles' ears, so he could only imagine how loud it must have seemed to Derek. His fingers brushed against it as he tried to pick it up. A shadow fell over him.

Stiles swallowed hard and chanced a look up. Derek was hovering over him, teeth bared and eyes flashing. “Oh, God,” Stiles breathed just as Derek swung his hand, complete with extended claws, towards him. He realized too late that his attempt to dodge the blow had rendered him off balance, and he tumbled down the steps. Once he was no longer disoriented, he glanced back at Derek, seeing with horror that the werewolf was lunging once more.

Stiles scrambled to his feet. He was almost to the door when a clawed hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him backwards. He yelped in pain as the claws dug into the skin, drawing blood. His fingers clawed at the floor in an attempt to keep himself from being pulled. All he got was splinters and torn, bloody fingers.

“Derek!” Stiles hoped to get through to him and snap him out of this high. He was flipped over onto his back, and he instinctively curled into a ball on his side as Derek swung at him again. The claws ripped through his shirt and flesh, and a strangled cry of pain echoed in the air. Stiles wondered if this was how Lydia had felt the night that Peter attacked her.

Derek was now bent over him, and Stiles kicked him in the stomach with all the strength he could muster. Derek moved backwards just enough for Stiles to squirm his way free. Blood dripped from the wounds on his arm and side, and he was pretty sure he'd twisted his ankle, too.

Stiles realized that he still clutched his phone tightly, and for a brief instant debated about making a run for his jeep and locking himself in there while calling Scott. He knew that the jeep wouldn't last against Derek, though. At least not long enough for Scott to come to his aid.

His mind flew to the gun and bullets he'd seen in the bag, and in a second, he made his decision. He hobbled towards the living room and grabbed for the bag. A gun was in his hand a few seconds later, and he pointed it at Derek.

“Stay back,” he croaked. Pointing a deadly weapon at an unstable and angry werewolf was not a good thing to do, but Stiles didn't have much else of a choice. He knew how to shoot a gun. His father had taught him on the off chance that he'd have to use one. Stiles hadn't really thought about that scenario, but here he was, gun in hand and ready to shoot someone.

At least, he thought it was ready to shoot. Quickly checking it, he saw that there were no bullets in it. He groaned. Tucking his phone between his knees, he reached into the bag and felt for the bullets, never once taking his eyes off of Derek. Derek was tense, a low rumble coming from deep within his chest. Stiles shivered. He knew that fear was most likely radiating off of him, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't good with life and death situations like this, and he had no means of protecting himself except for this gun, which he didn't even want to use. He didn't want to hurt Derek, but he would if it meant that he could save his own life.

Derek stepped forward, and Stiles fumbled to load the gun. He managed to load it, but not fast enough. Derek knocked the gun out of his hand, and Stiles made a lunge for it. He was stopped by a hand gripping his left hip. At first, the pressure was light, but soon it was like his hip was stuck in a vice, squeezing it until it just shattered.

Stiles screamed. He blacked out for a couple seconds before he was cruelly brought back to consciousness by claws raking down his leg. He felt dizzy with pain, and he tasted blood and bile in the back of his throat. “Derek,” he mumbled, “It’s me, Stiles.”

Derek just growled and sunk his claws deeper into Stiles’ thigh. The younger male cried out. His vision faded in and out, but he couldn’t give up yet. He wouldn’t give up yet. He had to stay alive for his dad, for Scott, and for the rest of his friends. Not to mention, he was sure Derek had no idea what he was doing right now. And even though he and Derek weren't best buddies or anything, he knew that Derek would feel bad for killing him.

Blocking the pain out as much as he could, he stretched his arm out, fingertips touching the barrel. “Come on,” he pleaded, wildly grabbing for it. The cool metal was soon within his grasp, and Stiles twisted around, nearly passing out from the excruciating pain radiating from his hip, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet lodged in Derek's shoulder, and Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted to be relieved or disappointed that it hadn't been a wolfsbane bullet. The Alpha snarled and snapped his teeth together, but didn't back down. Stiles flinched. He didn't want to die, and he didn't want to be a werewolf, either. He hoped that Derek kept those teeth to himself.

Stiles aimed the gun again, but dizziness and loss of blood was taking its toll on him. He was blacking out, and when he could see it was double vision. The next bullet lodged somewhere in the ceiling. Frustrated, Stiles tried again, only to have fingers tighten around his wrist until he couldn't hold onto the gun anymore.

Out of breath and strength, Stiles lay on the floor, bleeding and panting. It was over for him. He couldn't move anymore. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking of his dad and how hard this was going to be for him. A pained laugh escaped his lips. Stiles had always been afraid of losing his dad. He'd never thought that it might be his dad who would lose him first.

“'m sorry, Dad,” Stiles rasped. The last thing he saw before his vision bled black was Derek's teeth heading for his neck.


	5. The Uncertainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [linksofmemories](http://archiveofourown.org/users/linksofmemories) for beta-ing the entire chapter, and [synchronized_strangers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronized_strangers) for helping me with writing Peter Hale!

Derek hated Kate.

He hadn’t always hated her, though. At one point in time, he’d thought he loved her. He’d even thought that she loved him back. He’d been mistaken, as he’d discovered when she’d burned his family alive. She’d had her fun, though, so why wouldn’t she leave him alone? Why was she constantly showing up, taunting him?

Like today. She’d brazenly come into his house, talking about hunters and how he’d caused the fire himself, then calling for friends to come, and finally shooting him. But no more. He’d had enough of her tricks. He was ending this once and for all. He had her defenseless on the floor. Now all he had to do was kill her.

Teeth bared, he bent down, intent on ripping her throat out, when he paused. Something wasn’t right. She didn’t smell like Kate. Instead of peppermint and confidence, she smelled like sweat and fear and blood and...

Derek’s blood ran cold, and he jerked backwards. He stared in alarm at the prone body before him. Kate wasn’t the person lying there. She’d never been there. It was Stiles. Now in a panic, Derek frantically searched for a pulse and was relieved when he found one. It was faint and slow, but at least Stiles was still alive.

The Alpha promptly checked Stiles for other injuries, internally cringing as he saw the damage done. The younger male had nasty gashes on his right arm and side, left leg, and some minor scratches on his ankle. Derek grabbed a blanket he kept on the couch for when he spent the night here and ripped it, tying pieces of it around the bleeding wounds. They would be soaked within a few minutes, but at least it was something to slow the bleeding for a bit.

The lacerations on his leg, however, were a different story. They were deep and close to the femoral artery. As it was, there was quite a bit of blood already pooling on the floor, and Derek wasn’t sure how long he’d been bleeding. He quickly wound a strip of fabric around Stiles’ leg above the artery, tying it tighter than was usually called for. After breaking a leg of a wooden chair, he made a tourniquet. He knew there was the danger of Stiles’ losing his leg, but he had no other choice. If he didn’t want Stiles to bleed to death on the way to the hospital, then he had to take a chance.

Derek carefully slipped his arms under Stiles’ body, not missing how the teen’s hip felt wrong. He gritted his teeth. If he had to take a guess, he’d say that the pelvic bone was shattered. The unconscious teen moaned in pain as Derek lifted him up, and the werewolf uttered a soft apology before hurrying to his Camaro and gently placing Stiles inside. He reclined the seat so Stiles was lying down, and although he knew it would irritate Stiles’ broken hip, Derek strapped the seatbelt into place. It wouldn’t do any good for Stiles to be moving in his seat. That would just cause more damage.

Fifteen seconds later, the Camaro was careening down the driveway, Derek’s left hand on the wheel while the other was placed firmly against Stiles’ chest to prevent him from swaying too much. As soon as he was on the road, he pressed harder on the gas pedal. If he didn’t get Stiles to the hospital soon...

He didn’t want to think about that.

-+-+-

Derek made it to the hospital in record time. He threw the car into park at the emergency entrance, not even bothering to pull the keys from the ignition, and raced around to Stiles’ side to check on him. Blood had seeped into the cushions and saturated the makeshift bandages, and the teen’s complexion was pale and clammy. He hastened into the building.

Collective gasps rose from people in the waiting room, but Derek ignored them. Stiles was his first priority. A nurse rushed over to him, and Derek vaguely recognized her as Scott’s mom. She grabbed his arm, gesturing at the blood.

“What happened?” she questioned, her tone even and deadly calm with dangerously fierce undertones.

“Stiles. Animal attack,” he replied quietly. “He’s in my car.”

She gave a curt nod, indicating that she understood, and yelled for a gurney. She and two other nurses followed Derek outside. “His hip is broken, I think. The left one.”

Scott’s mom - what was her name? - nodded, and they carefully extracted Stiles and laid him on the gurney. “Okay. We’ll take it from here. Someone better call the Sheriff!” she yelled out as they disappeared into the building and down the hall, taking Stiles with them.

Derek stared after them, raising a hand to run it through his hair. He flinched upon seeing that it was stained in blood and slowly lowered it back to his side. He shakily made his way to the bathroom to clean up. It was going to be a while before he knew anything about Stiles.

-+-+-

In retrospect, Derek should have left after delivering Stiles safely to the capable hands of doctors. But he hadn’t felt right just leaving. He was, after all, responsible for Stiles’ injuries, and he was worried about him. They weren’t exactly friends, but that didn’t mean that Derek liked to see him hurt. Stiles was an ally in their fight against the hunters, and his brilliant mind had helped them on more than one occasion, for which Derek was grudgingly grateful.

So Derek had stayed, aimlessly wandering around the mostly empty waiting room, and covered in Stiles’ blood. He was too preoccupied on keeping his hearing trained on the operating room he knew Stiles was in to notice the Sheriff had arrived until a hand gripped his arm tightly.

“What happened to my son?”

Derek turned. He could smell the fear and anger radiating from the Sheriff, and felt his own panic start to rise. “It was an animal attack.”

A tense moment passed before the Sheriff shook his head. “No playing games, Hale. What the hell happened to my son?”

Derek began to shake. “I-I don’t... It was...”

“You better tell me right now, or I’ll slap you in handcuffs again,” the older man threatened in a low tone.

“My fault. It was my fault. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” the tirade tumbled from Derek’s lips, and he desperately hoped that the Sheriff wouldn’t think he was crazy.

“The hell it was. Did he go to see you? Were you using drugs again?” the Sheriff pressed, his grip tightening.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, gaze averted to the right. He couldn’t look him in the eye. “It was an accident.”

The Sheriff gritted his teeth so hard, Derek could hear them grinding together. “You’d better get out of here. Before I do something I might regret later,” he warned.

The werewolf nodded, not trusting himself to speak. There was a lot he wanted to say, but he couldn’t say any of it. He couldn’t just blather away that he was a werewolf who was using drugs, to some degree. So he simply followed the Sheriff’s advice and walked off.

“Don’t even think about running,” he heard the Sheriff call after him, but it was drowned out by the flat beeping emanating from Stiles’ operating room. Stiles had coded. He hunched his shoulders and hurried out into the setting sun. He felt like he was going to be sick, and he wanted to seclude himself from the world and try to forget that this even happened.

-+-+-

Going back to the Hale house wasn’t the answer if he wanted to forget the incident. The copper smell of blood hung heavy in the air, and the fluid stained the wooden boards. For the longest time, Derek just stared at the largest stain. Nausea made him dizzy, and he stumbled backwards, colliding with the couch. He sank onto it, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

He’d never meant for any of this to happen. The sickening reality of what he’d done now came crashing over him, and he was forced to face the truth. He had attacked Stiles earlier today, and as far as he knew Stiles was now dead as a result. He’d prided himself on never attacking or harming a human who wasn’t a hunter, and in just a few short minutes, he’d killed an innocent person.

A burning sensation in his shoulder drew him from his self-loathing, and he realized that he still had the bullet from before trapped under his skin. He closed his eyes, steeling himself, and dug his claws into his shoulder, extracting the bullet and flinging it across the room.

“This is quite the mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Derek stiffened at the sound of Peter’s voice. “Go away,” he said flatly, inwardly knowing that Peter wouldn’t listen. So it wasn’t a shock when Peter instead halted by the drying puddle of blood and knelt beside it.

“This is a rather unfortunate turn of events,” Peter mused.

Derek growled, “If you’re just here to make me even more miserable, then you can leave. Right now.”

“Always with the dramatics,” the older werewolf sighed and stood, giving his nephew an exasperated look. Derek returned it with a glare, and Peter shrugged, seemingly unaffected. Silence reigned while Peter glanced about, his blue eyes lighting on the small baggies by the couch.

Peter walked over and picked the full one up, raising an eyebrow at Derek, who ignored him. “How much do I want to bet that this is hallucinogenic wolfsbane?” he rolled his eyes at the surprised look sent his way. “Oh, please. I was a teenager once. You don’t honestly think that you’re the only one who has used wolfsbane for pleasure, do you? But while I did it for fun and to annoy the hell out of your father, what did you use it for?”

Derek debated about answering. He just wanted to be left alone, but another part of him wanted, no, needed to talk to someone. He couldn’t confide in Scott or Isaac, so the only person left was Peter. Derek still didn’t trust him, and he felt vulnerable by allowing Peter to see this side of him. He knew that Peter had ulterior motives, and showing him any kind of weakness was just asking for trouble.

“To see my family,” Derek replied haltingly.

Peter nodded slowly, an understanding look on his face. “You miss them.”

“Every day. I wish they were still alive.”

His uncle nodded slowly, gaze fixed on the bag in his hand. “There’s something that you want to tell me, Derek.”

Derek frowned. “No, there’s not.”

“Now that was a lie,” Peter pointed out. “If you want to convince me that there’s nothing wrong, you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that. So let’s try this again,” he bent over, invading Derek’s personal space and causing him to lean back further into the couch. “What do you want to tell me?”

Derek’s heart pounded fiercely. This was the moment of truth. Should he confess to Peter about his part in the fire? That he’d known Kate Argent previous to the fire? If he were to do that, he was as good as dead. There was no way Peter would allow him to live. But guilt over the past, added to the guilt of attacking Stiles, swirled angrily inside of him, pushing at the barriers he’d carefully erected to keep it at bay.

“The fire was my fault.”

The admission was quiet, but in the stillness of the room, it sounded like a gunshot. Derek forced himself to look at Peter, preparing himself for the look of utter hate and disgust that would be present.

“Why would you say that?” Peter asked.

“I knew Kate before the fire. She and I were dating secretly.”

Peter drew in a deep breath, “Did you know what she was planning?”

“No.”

“Were you the one to light the match and start the blaze?”

“No, but-”

“But what?” the older werewolf snapped. “If you didn’t know what she was going to do, and you didn’t light the match, then how the hell are you responsible for it?”

“Because I dated her! I was naive and stupid, and I thought that she honestly cared about me,” Derek replied. He was shaking, fists clenched tightly together, and it was all he could do to look at Peter when all he wanted to do was hide. “I didn’t know that she was just using me.”

“Ah, and there’s the key words. ‘Didn’t know,’” Peter leaned back and shook his head. “Derek, I asked you two important questions that, if answered in the positive, would mean that you are to blame for the fire. However, you answered ‘no’ to both of them. Now let me tell you something that will shock you.”

The younger male looked apprehensively at Peter, unconsciously holding his breath.

“I already knew.”

Derek sat in stunned silence. His uncle had known and hadn’t tried to kill him? “How did you find out?”

“We heard all about it when we were trapped in the basement,” Peter spoke those words with effort, as though it physically pained him to remember that night. Derek didn’t doubt that it did.

So the Kate hallucination had been right. She had told his family the truth. Derek drew in a shaky breath. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“No, Derek. As I told Stiles before when I was Alpha, I only wanted to kill the responsible ones. I didn’t kill you. Therefore, I must not think you’re responsible for it,” Peter explained patiently, although the eyeroll belied his irritation for having to say anything more on the matter.

“I was always waiting for you to find out the truth,” Derek admitted, eyes lowered. “I knew that if you were to find out, I was as good as dead because I’m at fault.”

“No,” Peter growled sharply. He reached out and tangled his fingers in Derek’s hair, forcing him to look at him. “You listen to me, Derek. It’s not your fault. It was Kate. It was all Kate. And I killed her for us.”

Relief flooded through Derek, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. He was still on guard, though, just in case Peter did decide to try something. He was manipulative and cunning, after all, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to pretend he wasn’t mad at Derek when in actuality he was. But even so, Derek felt like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. He’d kept this secret for seven years, hiding it away and dreading the day when it would come to light. And now it had, and Peter was adamant that Derek wasn’t to blame for the fire.

“Thank you,” he murmured brokenly, covering his face with his hands. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and unconsciously leaned into the familiar and comforting gesture. He knew he was leaving himself defenseless and wide open for an attack, but at the moment, he just craved physical contact, even if it was with his estranged uncle. He supposed he could forget about everything that had happened between them for a few minutes.

They stayed like that, Derek bent over and Peter offering silent comfort, until Derek finally straightened. An unspoken promise to never speak of this again passed between them, and Peter shifted backwards.

“Tell me what happened,” he said quietly.

“I hallucinated Mom for the first time a few weeks ago, and then I realized I hardly remembered what they looked like. I stole the wolfsbane from some hunters and began using it in an attempt to see them again. It worked. For a while.”

“And then?” Peter prompted when Derek fell silent.

“One day, I didn’t see them. So I tried using a bit more the next time, but it still didn’t work. Each day, I upped the amount, but nothing worked. Today I took more than I should have, and I-” Derek cut off, shooting a look at the bloodstain covering the floor.

“Hallucinogenic wolfsbane is extremely dangerous, Derek. I didn’t think I needed to tell you that. It messes with your mind, playing on your fears and weaknesses,” Peter sighed and crossed his arms. “Also, the more you use, the longer you have to wait until it’s completely out of your system. Since you’ve been using a larger amount every day, I’d say you have to wait at least another week before it’s all out.” He gave Derek a onceover. “You’re still feeling the effects, aren’t you?”

Derek nodded. “They’re not that strong, but I can.”

“The urge to turn will come and go. It’s best if you don’t go anywhere around people for now.”

“How do you know this?”

The older werewolf gave him an incredulous look. “I told you, I was a teenager once. I couldn’t get drunk or high by normal methods, so this was the next best thing. Needless to say, your father wasn’t too thrilled when he found out about my little habit.”

“He wasn’t thrilled about a lot of things,” Derek muttered with a fond smile.

“If he could only see us now,” Peter murmured.

Derek frowned in reply, recognizing the quiet jab, then sighed. “About before,” he hedged.

“Oh, don’t mention it. Can’t have anyone knowing the big, bad Alpha still cries,” Peter smirked.

“I wasn’t crying,” Derek defended himself. “I was just going to say, don’t expect that to happen again.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t forgive you for killing my sister. And I can’t trust you,” Derek said.

Peter huffed out a laugh, “I’d be worried if you trusted me this quickly. Even you’re not that stupid.”

Frowning, Derek glared at his uncle. “You know what I mean. Unless you can prove yourself, and even then I’ll be hesitant.”

“I never said anything about wanting to prove myself,” Peter murmured. “No matter what I do or say, you’ll always be second guessing me. Am I lying? Manipulating you?” he shrugged carelessly. “So why even bother trying?”

Derek stared at him for a heartbeat. “Get out,” he said, but without force.

Peter chuckled. “Very well,” he spoke and turned to leave before pausing, “Although I seem to remember you trusting me just fine when it suited you,” he threw over his shoulder, and Derek clenched his teeth as he watched Peter leave.

Derek sank against the couch, running a trembling hand down his face. He had no idea what was in store for him over the next day or so, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be good. He knew that he had to work up the courage to call the hospital and ask about Stiles, but he was half-afraid to hear the reply. If Stiles was really... If he really had killed Stiles...

Squeezing his eyes shut, he slumped over. He was exhausted, although he didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep yet. There was still some adrenaline in his veins, and the mounting apprehension didn’t help, either. Add to that the conflicting emotions he felt concerning Peter and his motives, and Derek felt like disappearing. Peter was still his uncle, after all, and Derek remembered the happier times when he was younger. Derek was often torn between clinging to Peter and shoving him away.

He sighed. This would have to wait for another time to dwell about it. His thoughts were too scattered to be of much use. Flinging an arm over his eyes, he tried to calm his raging thoughts and sleep. God knew he’d need rest for the week to come.


	6. The Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I don't have this marked as Derek/Stiles, even though it's just pre-Sterek for the moment. So that's fixed now haha.
> 
> Thanks to [linksofmemories](http://archiveofourown.org/users/linksofmemories) for reading over the entire chapter, and to [synchronized_strangers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronized_strangers) for helping me with Peter's part!

Bright lights. White walls. Voices shouting indistinctly. Worried faces of people he didn’t know. The terrified face of his father, bags under his eyes and worry lines etched deeply into his forehead.

They were just flashes. He would see them, and he wanted to talk, but he couldn’t. There was pain and agony, and the blessed darkness kept calling to him, taking away his suffering as he answered and drifted away.

-+-+-

Stiles knew where he was even before he opened his eyes. The smell of antiseptic and death was one he’d never forget, instilled into him by the long hours spent in this very hospital as he watched his mother slowly dying. But instead of sitting on the chair by the bed, this time he was the one lying there. An ache settled in his chest, and he swallowed hard, wishing fervently that his mother could be right there beside him.

He peeked an eye open, and a blurry figure came slowly into focus. “Scott,” Stiles rasped, then coughed. His throat was sore and dry.

“Stiles?” Scott leaned forward so fast, he nearly fell off the chair. “Oh, my God. You’re awake.”

“Oh, God. Not so loud. My ears work just fine,” Stiles moaned, wincing as his head throbbed.

“Sorry,” Scott whispered. “It’s just... It’s been two days, Stiles. And you weren’t waking up, and it was awful. I kept overhearing the doctors say how much blood there was, and that your heart even stopped.”

“Dude, I died?” Stiles’ mouth dropped open, and he gave a little grin. “That is awesome.”

“No, it’s not! Twice, Stiles! You died twice, and the second time, they weren’t even sure if they could revive you,” Scott scrubbed his hands through his hair, anguish laced in his expression. “Do you have any idea of what that was like for me to have to listen to them try to bring you back to life? They were trying everything, and nothing was working. And your dad was right there, so I couldn’t freak out because he would have wanted to know why I was freaking out. And then the doctors came out and said that they were moving you to ICU. God, Stiles, you scared the crap out of everyone.”

Stiles observed Scott, noting the way that the werewolf was shaking, as though he were reliving the hell he’d gone through a few days ago. When Scott put it like that, Stiles could see that it was no joking matter. It was a traumatic event for Scott, almost losing his best friend and partner in crime. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just don’t joke about it. I don’t think it was funny,” pain was visible in Scott’s brown eyes as he reached over and lightly squeezed Stiles’ arm. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Define ‘okay,’ because right now, I feel like crap,” Stiles muttered, then panicked as a memory surfaced. “Wait. I’m still in the hospital, so that must mean that Derek didn’t bite me after all?”

Scott’s eyes hardened, and his lips firmed into a straight line. “No,” he nearly spat, fists clenched tightly.

Stiles sagged with relief. “Oh, good. Wonderful. Terrific. Although it would be nice to not have any pain right now,” he said as he assessed the damage. His right arm was swathed in gauze, and he could feel pain in his side when he breathed. His right ankle was elevated slightly, but the most pain was radiating from his left hip, which had broken under Derek’s hand, if Stiles remembered correctly. The whole attack was a blur, and the only thing Stiles could remember clearly was the pain and panic he’d experienced.

“We have a bigger problem,” Scott said.

“Even bigger than Derek attacking me?” Stiles questioned, doubtful.

“Well, no, but it’s still a huge problem,” Scott amended his statement. “Your dad knows.”

“Knows what?” he figured he already knew the answer, but he wanted to make sure.

Scott glanced around to see if they were alone, and then leaned even closer and whispered, “About werewolves.”

“How the hell did he find out?” Stiles hissed.

“My mom told him. Hey, don’t look at me like that. Your dad was freaking out, and he wasn’t buying the whole animal attack thing. He kept saying that Derek was responsible. And oh, yeah, he said that Derek was on drugs? What was that all about?”

Stiles groaned quietly, closing his eyes. “I’ll tell you later. What else happened?”

“So your dad was making this big commotion, and finally my mom pulled him into another room, and she told him. Everything. And then your dad got all quiet and said that it made sense now.”

“Oh, my God,” Stiles mumbled. “Crap. He’s going to kill Derek.”

“Not if I get to Derek first,” Scott interrupted. “I haven’t killed him yet because I’ve been worried about you. But now that I know you’re going to be okay, I’m going to find him, and I’m going to kick his ass for hurting you.”

“It was an accident. He didn’t mean to hurt me,” Stiles shot back.

“Don’t defend him, Stiles. He attacked you. He almost killed you. Hunters are definitely going to be after him now since he spilled human blood. If we don’t kill him, then someone else will.”

Stiles shook his head, wincing as the movement jarred sore muscles in his neck and back. “Too tired to argue. Is my dad here?”

“He left to get food,” tilting his head, Scott frowned as he listened for the Sheriff’s voice. “Yeah, he’s just outside the room now.”

“I want to see him,” he watched as Scott left the room, returning a minute later with the Sheriff in tow. “Dad.”

“Stiles,” John said. His voice was tight with relief, and he carefully ran a hand over his son’s buzzcut. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, me, too,” he replied, allowing himself to relax against his dad’s hand.

There was silence as John struggled to keep his emotions in check. The past few days had been difficult for him. He’d nearly lost his son several times, and he’d also been informed of the existence of werewolves, which included people that Stiles knew and was friends with. John didn’t appreciate having been kept in the dark for so long, but now that he knew why Stiles had been sneaking around and lying so much lately, he was determined to put an end to it.

“I don’t want you anywhere near Derek Hale again. I mean it,” he held up a hand to halt Stiles’ protest which was sure to come. “He’s dangerous, Stiles. Just look at what he did to you.”

“It was an accident, Dad. There were lots of other times that he could have hurt me, but he didn’t.”

“Well, there’s a saying for that, Stiles. ‘First time for everything.’ But what I really want to know is why you went to see him even though you knew he was using drugs.”

Stiles blew out a breath in irritation. “He’s not a druggie. At least, not like the kind you’re thinking of. The night he was at our house, he’d run into some hunters and gotten dosed up on hallucinogenic wolfsbane. I took him to...somewhere, but there was nothing we could do to help him. It just had to run its course. I thought that was the end of it, but apparently I was wrong.”

“Stiles,” John said in a gentler tone, “what happened when you went to the Hale house?”

Frowning, Stiles closed his eyes in concentration and tried to get his memories of that day in order. “I went to see him because of the new hunters that are in town. I wanted to know if he had a plan to deal with them. I actually thought the hunters had found where he was hiding because he was acting weird again. Then I realized that he’d done it to himself, but by that time, it was too late to leave without making him more agitated. I dropped my phone, and it must have startled him or something because that was when-” he broke off, a thin sheen of sweat beginning to form on his face as terror swept through him.

Suddenly he wasn’t in the hospital anymore. He was back at the Hale house. He could feel the agonizing pain as Derek clawed at him, the jagged slices spewing out blood, and he couldn’t breathe. There was no one there to help him, and he was going to die.

Then his limbs and eyes became heavy, and although he fought against it, he could feel himself slipping away. Darkness gradually overtook him, bringing with it relief from the pain, and he thought that if this was death, then maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

-+-+-

The next time Stiles woke, Scott was no longer in the room, and the chair he had vacated was now occupied by someone Stiles was rather surprised to see. He stared, blinked a few times, and wondered if his concussion had caused him to hallucinate the beautiful Lydia Martin.

“Lydia?” he said cautiously.

“You owe me gas money,” she replied.

He blinked. “I do?”

Lydia nodded, smoothing down her skirt. “I came to see you earlier today, but when I arrived, I was told that they’d had to sedate you and that you wouldn’t be conscious again for a few hours. I didn’t want to wait around that long, so I left and came back a few minutes ago.”

“And I owe you gas money because you decided to leave.”

“Right. And be happy I even came back at all.” Lydia looked around, subconsciously hugging herself. “I hate hospitals.”

“Then why did you come?” Stiles questioned, then wished he could drag the words back. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer or not. He still wasn’t sure if this was real or a very vivid figment of his imagination.

Green eyes stared at Stiles, and a perfectly manicured nail tapped on the wooden armrest. Lydia pursed her lips, obviously trying to decide if she wanted to tell Stiles. “Because you visited me,” she said finally. “So consider it a debt being repaid.”

A grin spread across Stiles’ face. “Is that balloon for me, too?”

Lydia glanced at the colorful ‘Get Well Soon’ balloon attached to one of the bedrails. “I thought this would be a perfect one for you, since the colors are bright and obnoxious and loud.”

Stiles winced, “Hey, take it easy on the injured guy. I’ve been through a lot, you know.”

“Yes, I do know,” Lydia retorted sharply.

Stiles stared at her. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her right hand was resting lightly against her left hip, the same one that Peter had bitten a few months ago. Her eyes had darkened, and she looked like she was ready to bolt out the door and not look back. “I’m sorry,” he tried, hoping to coax her out of this weird mood.

She shrugged, her regular expression of nonchalance returning. “Don’t mention it,” she said with a small wave. “It’s ancient history.”

“I don’t think it is,” Stiles said. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, and he hoped that Lydia wouldn’t get mad. But he knew that wasn’t the case when Lydia pinned him with her classic bitch face.

“What do you mean?” she asked coolly.

“You haven’t talked about anything,” he said. “Not about the attack or Jackson or anything.”

“Excuse me, but I could have sworn I heard you say that I haven’t talked about anything,” Lydia interrupted. “Who was it who told me to just wait in my car and keep crying, he’d be right back and we could talk?”

Stiles cringed. Of course she’d drag that back up. “That wasn’t really my fault. Derek and I got attacked and trapped in the pool. I really was going to go back and talk to you.”

“And then Allison,” Lydia continued, ignoring Stiles’ defense, “said that she was too busy to talk when I waited an hour in the dark for her to get home. And then I translated that book about the kanima instead.”

“Which was very helpful,” Stiles quickly added.

“But did anyone ask how I was? No. Did anyone tell me what was going on? No. I had to find out from-” she abruptly stopped, eyes taking on a faraway look, before she shook her head and continued, “I had to find out most of it by saving Jackson.”

“We were trying to protect you, Lydia,” Stiles exclaimed. “It’s dangerous to know about it, and we didn’t want you to get involved.”

“I was already involved,” Lydia snapped. “I know that it wasn’t just some random lunatic who bit me. I know that-” she hesitated again, and her fingers dug into the material of her skirt.

“What do you know, Lydia?” Stiles gently pried. He wanted to hear what she had to say. Ever since that night when Jackson had been saved from being the kanima, Stiles had wondered what all Lydia knew. She’d mentioned that she knew bits and pieces, but hadn’t elaborated beyond that.

Strawberry blonde hair whipped through the air as she violently shook her head. “No. You do not get to do this. You do not get to keep me in the dark for months, and then suddenly act all worried about me.”

Stiles gaped at her, surprised by the venom in her tone. “Lydia, I’ve always been worried about you.”

“And thank you for your concern, but I can deal with this on my own. After all, that’s what I’ve been doing for a while now.”

“You can’t just keep it all inside, Lydia. It’s going to eat you alive,” Stiles groaned when a look of distaste crossed her face. “Okay, yes, I know. Bad illustration. But seriously, talk to someone. Me, Scott, Allison, Isaac.”

Leaning forward, Lydia stared at Stiles, “I am done with this conversation. You aren’t changing my mind, okay? My lips are sealed,” she made a dramatic motion of zipping her lips, an eyebrow raised pointedly.

“Okay, I get it,” he sighed. He watched her shift in the chair and look over her shoulder at the door. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said almost too quickly, her attention snapping back to Stiles.

“You seem nervous, like you’re just waiting for someone to jump out at you,” Stiles observed, then, “Hypervigilance.”

“I know what it’s called,” the girl rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, Ms. Morell?”

“Yeah. You talked to her, too, right?”

Lydia pursed her lips in thought, “Yes, but no. Just don’t tell my mom. She might still take away my car and keys. Don’t look at me like that, Stiles. Honestly, if I’m not going to talk to my friends about my problems, then I’m definitely not going to talk to someone that I don’t know,” she held up a hand when Stiles opened his mouth to protest. “Enough. I swear, you are one of the nosiest people I have ever met, and I really dislike that in a person.”

“You still have that acute phobia of people prying into your personal life, I see.”

In the spanse of a single second, Stiles watched as Lydia’s face went from annoyed to terrified. Her knuckles turned white as her fingers clenched tightly around the armrest, and she leaned forward slightly, as though she were waiting for an opportunity to flee from the room. Then just as quickly, her expression returned to one of cool indifference, and her posture relaxed. With a quizzical look, Stiles peered at the door, wondering who could have caused that reaction. He began to feel uneasy when he saw the figure framed in the doorway.

“Peter?” Stiles sputtered and shot Lydia a quick look, wondering if Lydia recognized Peter as her assailant, but she was examining her fingernails, seemingly unaffected by Peter’s presence. Maybe she’d just been startled by the sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how you’re doing, since my nephew is unable to do so,” Peter explained as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Is Derek okay? I think I shot him, but I can’t remember,” the male teen said suddenly, Peter’s words spurring a memory of a gunshot to the forefront of Stiles’ brain.

Peter quirked an eyebrow. “You’re the one lying in a hospital bed, and you’re worried because you shot Derek?”

“You said he couldn’t come, so I wasn’t sure if that was Peter speak for ‘dead,’” Stiles mumbled.

“Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you want to look at it, Derek is still alive and well. A little bullet in the shoulder isn’t enough to bring him down. But,” he said as he came closer, “I didn’t come here to talk about that. He was worried about you.”

“Derek was worried about me?” Stiles fairly squeaked.

Peter nodded. “Last he knew, your heart had stopped, but your father had just chased him out of the hospital so he couldn’t stick around and see how it turned out. You have to remember, Stiles, that Derek has never killed a human before. Even when protecting himself from hunters, he’s careful to not draw blood.”

“So you’re here basically to help ease his conscience,” Stiles supplied helpfully.

“That’s one way to put it,” the werewolf said. It looked like he was going to say more, but he only cocked his head as though listening for something.

The door suddenly swung open, and in an instant, Peter was standing behind Lydia, concealing her and Stiles’ face from view of the door. He put a finger to his lips before turning his head to look over his shoulder. “Can I help you?” he calmly asked the two men who had burst into the room.

“Oh, sorry,” one of them said. “We must have gotten the wrong room.”

“Indeed,” Peter murmured with a smile that showed teeth. “Now if you don’t mind,” he motioned towards the door, “my nephew and I were discussing how foolish his idea to impress a girl was.”

Stiles remained quiet, exchanging a look with Lydia who merely shrugged. The men backed away, mumbling apologies, and closed the door. Stiles turned to Peter and raised an eyebrow. “Care to explain?”

He just smiled. “I believe it is time for me to be leaving now. I do need to make sure that my nephew hasn’t gone and gotten himself into even more trouble,” he glanced at Lydia. “May I walk you to your car?”

“I’m not leaving yet,” Lydia said coolly. “And even if I were, I don’t need you to walk me to my car. I’m not a little girl.”

Peter’s eyes raked over her, a smirk firmly in place, “How very true,” he murmured, and his smirk grew wider when Stiles growled and Lydia flinched. “Have a good day.”

“Son of a bitch,” Stiles muttered as soon as Peter had left. He turned a worried look towards Lydia, “Are you okay?”

“Are you going to hang out with them still?” she said instead.

“Yeah, probably,” Stiles shrugged and winced. His muscles still ached. He felt like he wouldn’t be able to move normally for the next year.

“Why?”

“They’re my friends, that’s why,” Stiles said.

“You were _attacked_ by one of your so-called ‘friends.’ You almost died, and you still want to be around them?” Lydia’s voice rose an octave, and Stiles could tell she was struggling to keep her voice steady.

“My best friend also happens to be a werewolf, so yeah. I can’t just abandon him. Do you know how many times he’s needed my help since he became a supernatural creature of the night? Without me there, he’s practically dead. And I’ve even helped Derek, too. Besides,” he continued, “you helped Jackson even knowing that it was dangerous and you could die.”

“And what good did that do? He still left me,” she whispered, staring blankly at her hands folded in her lap.

“Jackson’s a jackass. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” Stiles replied in an attempt to cheer her up, although he knew it wouldn’t help. Lydia loved Jackson, that much was clear, and to have Jackson abruptly leave was not something she could get over easily. “Someday he’s going to wake up and realize what a beautiful, smart girl he lost.”

“You forgot immune,” Lydia stated automatically.

“I- What?” Stiles’ face scrunched up in confusion. “Immune?”

Her head jerked up, her own expression one of bewilderment. “What the hell did I just say?”

“Lydia, immune to what?” Stiles asked hurriedly. He could sense that she was beginning to shut everything out.

“I have to go,” Lydia jumped to her feet and grabbed her purse, slinging it on her shoulder in a daze. “I hope you feel better soon.” With that, she gave him a strangled smile and hurried out of the room.

“Lydia?” Stiles called after her, then slammed his fist on the bed when he received no reply. “Ow,” he muttered and leaned back against the pillows with a sigh. Why did girls, especially a certain one whose name was Lydia Martin, have to be so damn complicated?

He frowned. She’d mentioned that he’d forgotten ‘immune,’ but to what he still wasn’t sure. Did she mean she was immune to the bite? If so, then they’d already figured that out.

“This would be a hell of a lot easier if she would just tell us what she knows,” he grumbled, but knew there was no chance of that happening. Lydia seemed dead set against any supernatural dealings, although he couldn’t say he blamed her. She’d seen Jackson as a creepy lizard person before he turned into a werewolf and been attacked by Peter, though the jury was still out if she knew it had been him.

Stiles frowned. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, something about Lydia’s reaction when Peter had walked into the room. He’d assumed at the time that it was just hypervigilance that had caused her to become agitated at first, but now that he thought more about it, he wasn’t so sure. Peter’s comment about Lydia still hating people prying into her personal life indicated that they’d had that conversation before. But when? As far as Stiles knew, the only contact Peter and Lydia had had was when he’d bitten her, and Stiles would definitely remember any conversations.

A frustrated sigh filtered through the air, and Stiles closed his eyes. He was too tired to think more about it right now. He figured he’d have plenty of time to think on the subject in the days to come. He could also talk to Derek and see if he knew anything. That is, if Stiles could manage to convince Derek to visit him. Now that his dad knew about werewolves, Stiles wouldn’t put it past him to be more observant than normal. Oh, well. Stiles would think of a way to get around that. Another time, though, he thought as he drifted to sleep.


	7. The Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the last chapter for this story! Thanks to everyone who has been reading this and leaving kudos/comments. They're very much appreciated!
> 
> Another thanks to linksofmemories for beta-ing.

Derek stared at the sign for the Sheriff department from the safety of his Camaro. It had been three weeks since he’d attacked Stiles, and two weeks since the last of the wolfsbane had filtered out of his system. It had been a painful experience, full of hallucinations and memories, but he’d made it through. Having his uncle there while Derek was unable to do much to protect himself was nerve racking and unsettling, but he had to admit he was glad for the company. Peter had known what to expect, and there had been several times that he’d wolfed out and lost all memory of it, but Peter had been there to stop him before he hurt himself or someone else.

Of course, Peter hadn’t been with him the entire week. Derek recalled several occasions where it had just been himself at the Hale house. He still had no idea where Peter had gone or what he’d been doing, but he hadn’t heard of any disturbances around town, so he figured Peter wasn’t causing any trouble. Yet, at least.

No, at the moment, it was Derek who was in trouble. He’d attacked and nearly killed Stiles, and all because he’d been weak and given into the temptation of seeing his family again. He knew he had to explain things to the Sheriff, but he wasn’t sure how someone went about saying that he was a werewolf and not get tied into a straitjacket and pushed into a padded cell.

If worse came to worst, Derek could always show the Sheriff. The Sheriff was smart, and Derek knew that he’d be able to put the pieces together. Although in doing this, Derek might incriminate either himself or his uncle for the so-called animal attacks, and he didn’t want his uncle to get arrested. But Kate had been declared the mastermind behind the attacks, so technically the Sheriff wouldn’t have to arrest Peter. Besides, how would the Sheriff pin the attacks on a man who’d been in a catatonic state?

Derek groaned. Then again, Peter Hale had been declared missing from the Beacon Hills Longterm Care, and his nurse had been found murdered in the trunk of her car. The Sheriff could definitely get Peter for that.

Maybe this was a bad idea. There was no guarantee that the Sheriff would even listen to him, and it had been pounded into him as a child that he was to never reveal their secret. But if anyone deserved to know, it was the Sheriff. After all, it had been his son who’d been critically injured, and he already thought that Derek was the one to blame. Derek had no idea why the Sheriff hadn’t come to arrest him yet. Perhaps the wild animal story had been confirmed by the doctors.

But no matter the case, Derek had come here to explain to the Sheriff, and he wasn’t about to back down now. Drawing in a deep breath, he got out of the car and walked over to the door. After a second’s hesitation, he walked inside. A different receptionist was there than the one he’d previously seen. Of course, that was because Jackson had killed the other one. This receptionist was male, in his mid-thirties.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’d like to speak to Sheriff Stilinski,” Derek replied.

“Your name and what this is concerning?”

“Uh, tell him... Tell him Derek wants to talk to him about Stiles,” Derek watched the man nod and disappear into the back. He tapped his fingers nervously on the desk, his gaze darting about as though someone were going to leap out at him and kill him. Two minutes, although it seemed more like two hours to Derek, ticked by before the officer returned.

“This way,” he said.

Derek followed him quietly, murmuring a ‘thank you’ as they reached the office. He knocked on the door, then opened it when he heard the Sheriff say, “Come in,” and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

John glanced up, put down his pen, and leaned back in his chair, arms folded against his chest. “Derek. Have a seat,” he motioned with his head to the chair in front of the desk.

The werewolf did so, eyes scanning the room for any hidden weapons that the Sheriff might have before returning his gaze to the older man when he spoke.

“So I was told that you wanted to talk about Stiles,” John said, not wasting any time getting to the point.

“Yes, Sir,” shifting in his seat, Derek leaned forward. This was it. It was now or never. “The truth is, Sir, that...I did that to Stiles.”

“Really?” John matched Derek’s pose. “Because the doctors all seem to think that some kind of wild animal attacked him. And unless I need to get my eyes checked, you don’t look like a wild animal to me.”

“Not right now, but I can turn into one. I mean,” Derek hastened to elaborate, “I’m a werewolf. Almost my entire family were werewolves.”

“Werewolves,” John repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Like fangs and claws and fur, on full moon nights?”

“Yes, Sir. I know it sounds far fetched and completely ridiculous, but it’s the truth. I can show you, if you want proof,” the younger male offered.

“Say I believe you. Why did you attack my son?” John’s tone sharpened, and his eyes narrowed.

Derek ran a hand through his hair, casting his gaze downwards. He breathed in, taking a moment to prepare himself, and looked back at John. “Have you ever heard of wolfsbane? It’s poisonous to werewolves and acts like a drug and can kill us,” he explained when the Sheriff shook his head. “It can be in different forms and weaponized to magnify the effects. Recently, I became aware of hallucinogenic wolfsbane when a group of werewolf hunters attacked me. That night, I hallucinated Ka-... someone from my past, and then my mother.

“It got me to thinking that I was beginning to forget what my family looked like. I was desperate and stupid, and I began using the wolfsbane in order to have more hallucinations. Then Stiles came over one day. I never meant to hurt him,” Derek stressed firmly, leaning forward a bit more. “In my hallucination, he was someone else. A hunter.”

“So that’s why you attacked him. You thought he was going to kill you.”

“Yes. By the time I realized who he really was, it was too late. I got him to the hospital as quickly as I could, and stayed until you came. Then I went back to the Hale house where I remained for the next week while the wolfsbane left my system.”

John was quiet for a moment. He studied Derek closely, and the younger man resisted the urge to squirm under the intense stare. “Let me tell you something, Derek,” he said finally. “I knew you were a werewolf before you told me.”

“You did?”

“Scott’s mom told me, and Scott confirmed it. Stiles went through the past year or so with me, and I found out there’s a lot of crap that I missed,” a frown deepened the lines on John’s face. “I had no idea about any of it. The whole situation with Matt killing off the swim team, Stiles said that Matt was controlling a shapeshifter and that’s what was killing people. He also said that you guys don’t know who the shapeshifter really was, but that it’s gone now.”

Jackson, Derek thought, but didn’t say it aloud. Stiles hadn’t told his dad, probably wanting to keep Jackson out of it. There was no need for the Sheriff to know that Jackson had unknowingly participated in murdering people. “That’s right,” he said instead.

“And all the animal attacks that were supposedly carried out by Kate Argent. They weren’t really her or a mountain lion.”

“Rogue werewolf. Also gone,” Derek found himself saying and cringed inwardly. He should have told the Sheriff that it had been Peter, but Peter was still pack in a way, not to mention his uncle. As much as Derek hated him, he couldn’t sell him out.

John tapped his fingers on the desk, “Your uncle is missing. His nurse was found dead in the trunk of her car.”

“Peter is also a werewolf. He healed slowly from his injuries, and when he regained consciousness, he came to live with me.” Another lie. Derek just hoped that Stiles hadn’t spilled the entire truth to his dad. Otherwise, he was in deep trouble.

“And his nurse?”

Derek shook his head. “I have no idea.” Which was the truth. He couldn’t say with complete certainty what had happened to her. He just had a vague idea that Peter had killed her somehow.

The look on the Sheriff’s face clearly showed that he didn’t fully believe Derek, but he didn’t press the issue. Maybe Stiles had told him that pack unity was an important thing for them. “Stiles told me you’re the Alpha of your own pack.”

What pack, was what Derek wanted to say, but he bit that back and replied, “A small pack. And I’d rather not say names.”

John shrugged. “Fair enough. One more thing, and then I’ll let you go. That night you were at my house. You were, uh, using wolfsbane then?”

Derek shook his head. “No, that was the time I ran into the hunters. I’ve been clean for two weeks.” It was odd to be using terms that generally applied to drug addicts, but Derek figured that it was basically the same thing in his situation.

“I’m not sure how much of a pull this wolfsbane will have on you, but in my experience as a police officer, most drug addicts have a hard time fighting the addiction on their own. But I’m guessing you don’t have those pamphlets I told Stiles to give you anymore.”

“I threw them out,” Derek confessed. “At the time, I hadn’t started using yet, and even if I had been, I wouldn’t have gone for help. I don’t think there is a Wolfsbane Anonymous yet,” he smiled grimly. “I wish I had, though.”

“There are lots of things that we do or don’t do that we end up regretting,” John spoke quietly. “The trick is letting it go and moving on, making sure to not repeat the same mistakes.”

The younger man nodded, “I know.”

“You’re a smart young man, Derek, so listen to what I’m going to tell you,” the Sheriff pointed a finger at him, “You have to move on. You have to make something of your life instead of just sitting around, dwelling on the past. Otherwise, the pain will drown you. You can’t let that happen, not with people depending on you to lead them.”

Silence fell heavily in the room, both men lost in their own thoughts. While Derek understood where the Sheriff was coming from, he still wished he could go back in time and prevent his attack on Stiles. Or maybe he could go even further back in time and stop Kate from starting the fire. He could also tell that John was talking from experience about needing to push past the pain and move on. He’d lost his wife, but he hadn’t been able to lose himself to the grief because of Stiles. Derek didn’t doubt that Stiles had probably been the only reason that John had kept going after his wife’s death.

After a few minutes, John glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, it’s quitting time,” he stood up, grabbing his coat. “Let’s go.”

“Sir?” Derek questioned.

“I need to get home so I can cook dinner, and you’re coming,” he walked over to Derek and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you know the way,” he added with a grin at Derek’s bewildered expression.

-+-+-

Derek, standing motionless in the driveway, stared at the Stilinski house. It was weird being invited here, especially by the Sheriff. Needless to say, Derek was apprehensive. What if this was all just a trick to get him to put his guard down, and then the Sheriff would kill him? But if he wanted to kill Derek, why had he waited until now? He could have gone to find Derek and kill him earlier instead of waiting for three weeks.

A hand gently pushed on his back. “You can go in, Derek. I promise, nothing will happen to you,” John chuckled before walking on ahead of the younger male.

Hazel eyes watched the Sheriff’s retreating back, and he sighed. Right. It was just dinner at the Stilinski house. It wasn’t like he was marching to his death. He hoped. He had no idea how Stiles was going to react to seeing him. He knew that the teenager had been texting him throughout the past two weeks, but he’d deleted them all without reading them. He hadn’t been ready to face Stiles yet. He didn’t know if he could face him now.

But Derek knew that he had to sooner or later, so why not take the opportunity now and get it over with? A deep breath, and then he walked into the house. He could hear John rummaging in the kitchen and the TV blaring from the living room. Hesitating, he turned to the left and entered the living room.

It was apparent from the mess of cups and paper plates on the coffee table that Stiles had moved into the living room. He was lying on the couch, a blanket covering his legs, and watching Thor. He looked tired, and Derek wondered if pain from his injuries was responsible for that. He shifted his weight, and the floorboards creaked, causing Stiles to look up.

“Derek? What are you doing here?” Stiles gawked at him, shock evident on his face.

Derek shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling oddly uncomfortable like he was intruding on Stiles’ personal space, “Your dad invited me.” He watched carefully for any signs of distress that showed that Stiles was scared of Derek’s presence, but there was only surprise and relief.

“He did?” Stiles slowly pushed himself up into a seated position then motioned for Derek to sit on the end of the couch by his feet.

“Yeah,” the werewolf took the invitation and sat down, keeping as much space as he could between his leg and Stiles’ feet. “Why didn’t you tell me that he knew?”

The teen hit pause on the remote, effectively halting Loki’s rant. “I would have if you’d replied to my texts. I was starting to think you’d died or something.”

“Why were you texting me anyways? I’d have thought that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me after...” he trailed off, and his eyes drifted to Stiles’ left hip. He could tell that Stiles was in pain but apparently didn’t want to say anything, most likely an attempt to keep Derek from feeling bad.

A twinge of guilt coursed through Derek, and his hand was hovering over Stiles’ hip before he realized he’d moved. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and his gaze snapped up to meet Stiles’, whose brown eyes were wary. Derek swallowed hard, shame now creeping up and tangling with the guilt. It had been a long time since he’d seen fear in Stiles’ eyes concerning him. It hurt, although Derek wasn’t exactly sure why. He didn’t know if he wanted to know.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered. “I just- You’re in pain.”

“Physical therapy was a pain in the ass today, and I can’t take any pain meds for another hour and a half,” Stiles admitted in a strangled tone.

“I can take some of it away.” Derek lowered his hand, fingertips gently pressing into the jean-covered hip. He began to focus on the pain, drawing it towards himself and watching it disappear underneath his sleeve.

“Oh, my G- You can do that, too?” Stiles gasped, and Derek was pleased when the teen’s body slumped against the cushions, losing its tenseness.

“Too?” Derek questioned, brows furrowing.

Stiles nodded. “Scott. He’s done this a few times for me,” his eyelids fluttered before closing as he relaxed further. Nothing more was said until Derek pulled his hand away.

“You never answered my question.”

“Why I was texting you?” Stiles asked, and Derek gave a low grunt in reply. “Because we have a lot to talk about, actually. Like why the hell were you giving yourself wolfsbane poisoning for starters?”

Derek winced. “It’s a long story,” he murmured.

“Does it look like I’m going anywhere anytime soon?” Stiles shot back, spreading his arms to encompass his recovering body. “Then give me the short version instead. I think I at least deserve an answer.”

When he put it like that, Derek couldn’t argue with his logic. “The night I was attacked by the hunters, I hallucinated my mom. I wanted to see my family again, so I stole the wolfsbane from the hunters. Eventually, it stopped working, even when I tried using more. When you came to see me, I incorporated you into my hallucination. My mind took what you were saying and twisted it, making me think you were a hunter. I never meant to hurt you, Stiles,” he said after taking a breath, “Luckily, I recognized who you were before I...before I hurt you worse. But it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. And it won’t happen again.”

“Good. Because if it does, the next bullet I shoot at you won’t land in your shoulder. It will be in your head.”

Derek glanced over at Stiles, trying to decide if he was joking or being serious. “Whatever it takes to keep me from killing anyone,” he finally stated.

Snorting, Stiles rolled his eyes, “Always with the drama queen statements. I know you won’t kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because something stopped you from doing it a few weeks ago. You even said yourself that you recognized who I was. That has to count for something,” Stiles replied, shrugging half-heartedly. “Also, I don’t think you’ll be messing with wolfsbane anymore,” his expression softened, and he stared at the TV. “But I know what it’s like to miss someone and want to see them again.”

Derek remained quiet, knowing that Stiles wanted to say more and giving him the chance to collect his thoughts. He didn’t miss the fact that the noise had ceased from the kitchen, either.

“My mom died when I was ten. She had cancer, and the treatments worked at first. Then the cancer came back more aggressive, and she was gone within four months. It hurt. It still does. I mean, when you’re a kid, you think your mom is always going to be there for you. You don’t think about her being taken away from you so early in life,” his voice quivered, and tears gathered in his eyes. “And then it happens, and you’re left wondering what you could have done. If there’s anything you could have done. Been a better kid, prayed a little harder. And you realize that there was nothing you could have done. I miss her every day, and every day I wish that I could see her again, be able to hug her and hear her laugh. I know that you lost more of your family than I did,” Stiles continued, pinning the werewolf with his gaze, “but if you ever need to talk, my window is open.”

A minute ticked by slowly before Derek trusted himself enough to speak. As it was, his voice was lower and unsteady than he would have liked. “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure if he would take Stiles up on his offer, but he definitely appreciated the gesture.

A tiny smile appeared on Stiles’ face. “You’re welcome.” The atmosphere became heavy and uncomfortable, then, with unexpressed words and emotions hanging over them. Stiles cleared his throat, the sound loud in the quiet room. “So, um, there was more I wanted to talk about.”

“What?”

“Your uncle. There’s something going on with him. He came to see me in the hospital, and Lydia was there, too.”

“They visited together?” Derek asked quickly, heart pounding. He remembered the Martin girl dragging him into the Hale house the night that Peter was resurrected, and he’d been too afraid of the answer to question Peter about it.

“No, Lydia was there first, then he showed up a few minutes later. But it was really weird,” Stiles frowned, “Like they knew each other. I know that he was the one who attacked her, but they seemed more familiar with each other. It’s hard to explain.”

“What did Peter want?”

“He said that he was there to check on me for you,” he looked curiously at Derek, and opened and closed his mouth several times before saying slowly, “You know something, don’t you? You have that guilty look on your face that says ‘I know something important that I’ve been keeping from everyone.’ So what is it?” Stiles’ phone beeped then, and he sighed. “Can you hand that to me, please? And I expect an answer.”

Derek reached over and grabbed it off the table, giving it to the teen. “I’m not exactly sure what happened between Lydia and Peter,” he said carefully. “All I know is that-”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Stiles butted in, jerking upright suddenly. He groaned and pressed a hand to his side. “I just got a text from Scott.”

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, already in Alpha mode. If it was the hunters...

“He said that his mom just texted him,” Stiles glanced up from his phone, wearing a worried expression, “Lydia was in a car accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...cliffhanger! I am so evil haha. The next story will be Lydia centric, so keep an eye out for that. You can check out my [tumblr](http://drowning-in-the-feels.tumblr.com/) if you haven't already in the meantime.
> 
> Again, thanks for reading!


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